


Unlife Isn’t A ScaryTale, It’s a Battlefield

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Monster High
Genre: Attacks on the School, Attempted Worldbuilding, Dramatic and Horrifying, Everyone is in Danger, Multi, Occasional OCs specifically to provide background people and further plot, Paranormal Investigator's Convention, Pranks are played on that ahole Normie Sheriff, Student Disappearances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-29 09:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 77,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13924065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: Danger comes to New Salem, under the guise of the annual Paranormal Investigator's Convention; and no monster is safe any longer. Something hides in the darkness that even THEY fear.Spectra Vondergeist digs deep beneath the surface to try and find the reason behind the sudden spate of disappearances, for the fear flooding through the students of Monster High. The question is, rather, will she be able to stop it once she knows the truth?





	1. Conventions and Spectre-ulations

**Author's Note:**

> Ancient MH Secret Santa Gift for MysteriousAlex of Tumblr. 
> 
> Prompt ended up longer than initially assumed, a bigger story the further it went, and then I lost interest mid-way through. Now I'm trying to find my notes on this, to finish it.
> 
> May be re-edited in future, as it was written ages back and I *think* I might have improved my style a little since then. Perhaps.

Magma coursed through non-existent veins as the rage built, burning brighter than magnesium at her core, and finally boiled over. Surging from head to toe, almost like a heartbeat of pure, righteous fury and homicidal intentions. 

It was frightening… and yet, it was also exhilarating, in ways mere words could not describe.

There was no stopping this… this… this  _ retribution _ .    
The time had come for justice to raise her sword against people who would use their knowledge to bring pain and suffering to the innocent; who would laugh in the face of their grief and see no wrong in their actions.

 

She was rage incarnate.

 

She was justice.

 

She was never going to be the hero of this story.

Her hands were awash with far too many sins already...    
But she could save those who remained.    
No matter the price to be paid, it was inconsequential.

 

**\--------------------------------------------------**

 

Moonlight-pale fingers danced over the keyboard at speeds that defied conventional physics, and had casual observers reaching for motion-sickness curatives.   
Who could blame the gossip ghoul, though, when she was in pursuit of a  _ major scoop _ ?

Many who attended Monster High would look to their community calendars at this time of year, and let out horrified moans, exasperated eyerolls and verbalised calls for any number of gods to just strike them down where they stood; but for Spectra, it was an utterly fascinating phenomena that require her constant attention and blogging. Especially as this would be the very first year that her incoporeal pals, the students who had recently transferred from Haunted High, would ever see it!

 

The  _ Annual New Salem Paranormal Investigators’ Convention _ had once more rolled into town, and it  _ always _ brought some interesting characters with it. 

Normies from all over the Boonited Stakes of Amscareica would converge, on the only integrated monster-human town in the entire country, for the seven-day convention; it was a fangtastic boost to the local shriekonomy, with bootiques doing a brisk trade and all the hotels fully booked months in advance. The conventioneers themselves were considered quite the financial boon to New Salem store owners, human and monster alike; depending on where they felt most comfortable shopping.

 

Of corpse, the DOWNSIDE to all of this was…  _ also _ the conventioneers.

  
Paranormal ‘investigators’ tended to range from curious younger humans wanting to see what it was all about, and a few older kooks wearing possibly the most offensively loud Hauntwaiian shirts anyone in the history of Monster High had ever seen; to quite serious ‘professionals’. The latter groups often tended to arrive to the convention with copious hardware, dressed like a leather fetishist’s dream revision of the Ghostbusters; and yet, no one batted an eye.    
It just… was a thing that happened, like full moons and shoe sales.

 

Spectra found this whole mess of humanity  _ fascinating _ !

From afar, of corpse.    
  
Officially, the school did not want to be seen encouraging the festival.    
The convention was, in and of itself, a tad offensive to many sensibilities, as many of the seminars were dedicated to different monster types and how to capture them. There was also the concern that students could be exploited for the sake of conventioneers’ personal gain; as had occured in the past. Which was, under law, an exploitation of minors and easily prosecutable should it occur again.

  
_ Unofficially _ , there were grave concerns that in amongst these average thrill-seeking normies that bustled through the doorways each day and night, could exist hidden threats; wolves in sheep’s clothing, so to speak. Persons with negative or perverse intents towards monsters... or, worse still, the potential for undercover Hunters. Though nothing could be confirmed.

 

Even with the significant (if theoretical) threat posed by this multitude of humanity surging upon the town, it was not the main reason that many of the inhuman communities of New Salem held strong feelings of ill-will towards the annual gathering.    
Most students hated this time of year, predominantly because now every mundane activity – _ from something as simple as getting the mail, to playing casketball with your closest fiends, or even date night _ \- became a reason for crowds of humans to gather and openly gawk at any monster who did not escape swiftly enough.   
It was truly a frustrating situation. 

If it had only been normies staring, wide-eyed and awe-struck at the every move of certain monster teens… perhaps it would have been, if not okay, then something close to it. However, it was the addition of being perpetually under the surveillance of cameras that really messed with the non-human teens most. Video cameras, phones, webcams, GoPros, hacked security feeds from around town, tiny hidden cameras… it was like being the unwitting stars of a nature documentary; which made everyone somewhat irritable, paranoid, and tetchy. 

 

So would anyone, really, under the circumstances.

For an entire week, no one could ever be certain the bathroom they entered  _ wasn’t _ bugged, at least  until Ghoulia had used her handheld EM-pulse generator to ‘clear’ it. There’d been far too many concerns in the past, so the ghoul genius had cobbled together a solution from spare parts.    
Their fears were not unfounded, however, as the vast majority of footage often found its way to the internet; some edited beyond belief to fulfil whatever image of monsters the filmmaker happened to have.    
Some was rather unflattering, which was unfortunate… for them.    
Medusa Gorgon was a top-notch lawyer, and had been for centuries; she made certain they paid for any slander, or deliberate misrepresentation, in gold... and fear.

It was those legal actions that made current conventions easier to bear, in all honesty.   
Those who attended in recent years were far more mindful of the kind of footage they shot while there; and how they handled the end result. It also made them easier to mess with, but that was an entirely different story involving some rather interesting interviews full of infearmation such as falsified ‘facts’ and secret ‘monster rituals’; that Headless Headmistress Bloodgood had had to personally put a stop to, two years prior. 

Fun, yes.    
Helping to foster monster-normie relations… not so much.

 

In short, the convention was both brilliant and frustrating.   
Many Monster High students hated being waylaid by over-enthusiastic ‘monster experts’ asking odd and invasive, if not wildly incorrect or assumptive, questions; nor were they huge fans of being perpetually filmed. 

Spectra, on the other hand, absolutely adored this time of year.   
She had an opportunity to practice her observational skills on the convention-goers, trying to gain an understanding of how normies thought.    
Articles she posted in the Ghostly Gossip at this time of year tended to be rather interesting, and had a wide readership; even if sometimes a few of the half-human monsters at the school had to have a quiet word about something she’d written based on an assumption, that wasn’t quite accurate. 

So  _ perhaps _ she’d mentioned humans seemed to have a biological need for caf-fiend, based on the quantities some of those she’d observed were guzzling it down. No big deal, easily corrected in the following article… an addendum right after the thrilling new expose on how humans seemed to ritualistically wear strangely-vivid Hauntwaiian wear as a means of visually deflecting monster attacks...

 

Besides the obvious enjoyment of this particular time of year,  _ a journalist’s Crypstmas you might say _ , Spectra also had the added bonus of sharing it with several of her new spectral fiends from Haunted High. Though she had pre-warned Kiyomi, Vandala, River and Porter… it was still a shock to their senses to find a town crawling with slightly-too-monster-positive-for-comfort normies.    
It had meant a few changes to their paranormal routines, such as the fact that Vandala and River were no longer allowed to take their boats out for a cruise around New Salem during the daylight hours; something the original residents of New Salem had grown to accept in the last few months, after Headless Headmistress Bloodgood made a public announcement about the situation.   
And heartily assured that, no, no one was under attack from ghost pirates… this was accompanied by a stern glance at Vandala; who contrived to look as innocent as one could, when dramatically posing beside a ghost-ship-cannon. 

 

Ghosts were one of the biggest lures in the world of paranormal investigations; hundreds of shows and Gootube channels were dedicated to finding them, communicating with them, or ‘helping them move on’. The latter was less pleasant than some normies just randomly dropping by to ask if you needed help carrying boxes to the moving van, and had a lot more to do with meddling humans causing great harm with incorrectly invoked spectral banishment rituals.    
It was a cultural perception that this was helping the ghosts or spectres, and on some level the non-corporeal monster community understood the altruistic intent… but at the same time, it was a threat, and a concern that had been addressed after several attempted exorcisms at previous conventions.

It was also one of the main reasons that no humans attending said convention were allowed on the school grounds. This infearmation was printed on the banners, passes and tickets by the promoters; so no one could claim ignorance of this fact if they got caught. All bases were covered from a legal standpoint, and the Fa-cruelty had full lease to do whatever was necessary to protect the students should trespassers decide to ignore the rulings. 

 

Recently, the most these teams of ‘serious supernatural detectives’ did was scout the town for abandoned buildings and gear up to spend the night running about in the dark, trying to capture a spirit on film. Actually, one of the reasons Johnny Spirit was in detention so long, was predominantly due to the fact that he had slipped out about thirty years ago, just to scare the pants off of some overly-confident investigators. Which in turn gave one of the older members of the group a heart attack, and soured monster-human relations for the next two decades. Bloodgood wanted to ground him for two additional centuries, but the normie survived after a little CPR was applied to the situation; therefore earning him only an additional decade.

Still, it meant there was a huge push to keep students -especially the ghosts- separate from the convention attendees. Which often meant long, boring speeches about the Do’s and Don’ts of Interaction with these Paranormal Investigators, in exceedingly-long full-school assemblies in the weeks prior. That was always a drag.

On the other hand, it wasn’t as if Spectra ever really paid attention to the lectures.   
The normies she followed weren’t going to see her, unless she allowed it; and where was the journalistic integrity in that? 

No, in the last few years, the gossip ghoul had become rather adept at playing hide’n’shriek with the convention-goers. Shadowing them from corners and ceilings, getting sneaky snaps through floors and walls… she was really getting good at this covert news coverage business!

As long as she wasn’t caught on film, all would be fine.   
Right?


	2. Picture Worth a Thousand Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since someone actually commented, I have decided to sling a few more of the pre-written but not-edited chapters at you guys.  
> Will probably one day do more, promise.

Someone at Monster High was disobeying the rules.    
_ One of the ghosts _ , Headless Headmistress Bloodgood had announced at an emergency all-school assembly that afternoon,  _ has been leading several of the human investigative groups on a merry dance around New Salem _ . Her tone betraying the disapproval she obviously felt at this happening.

Perhaps the Principal was just being a tad too sensitive. Sure, weird things had happened in the past, but so far they’d reached Day 2 of this crazy convention nonsense and nothing whatsoever seemed to have gone down. Well, nothing that hadn’t been carefully engineered for maximum effect, and minimal risk, that is. 

It could have something to do with that weird huma-... ‘ _ normie _ ’... Sheriff guy who came storming into the school earlier on. His gore-geous ghoul Spectra said she couldn’t tell exactly what they argued about, as the Headmistress had been carefully to ward her office against budding journalistic spectres, but it sounded like something had been going on with the convention-goers.

He’d played dreadfully innocent on that one, asking  _ whatever could she mean? _   
It was meant to be funny, but her expression had been tight; her lovely eyes followed the normie officer’s movements like a werekat in the same vicinity as a lightsaber-styled laser pointer.  Other students moved out of his way or blocked other monsters off _ bodily _ from the man, faces showing distaste or mistrust; and something told the new transfer student that it wasn’t entirely due to him being human, either.

When he and the other ghosts had asked, Spectra only responded that there’d been an incident last Halloween involving some underhanded racism towards the monster community… and had nearly gotten some students Trick-or-Treated; before immediately switching topics to something more pleasant. She’d been practically humming all week long, getting them intrigued and excited for this Paranormal Investigations Convention; not that they were going, of corpse, just that it was something you _ had _ to _ see _ .

Still… none of them had been prepared for the sheer volume of traffic the event seemed to garner.    
Going from ‘tentatively meeting monsters, and a few half humans’ to ‘more humans you can count’ was a bit of a culture shock for the paranormally-sequestered spectres of Ghost World.    
On the other hand, Spectra was right… they were an interesting strain of humanity to observe.   
Though, maybe he took it a little too far…

...nah.

 

-)0(-

 

Almost without thought, he shakes the can vigorously;  a small smile growing across his luminescent lime features as the comfortingly familiar clink-clonk-clank echoed throughout the dimly lit, empty room. As the metal ball bearing agitated the ghost paint within to perfection, Porter Geiss hovered backwards to examine his latest masterpiece with a critical eye. 

It wasn’t finished yet, of corpse.   
Otherwise he wouldn’t be shaking the can, would he?   
It was, however, quite close. The boo only hoped he could finish it in time before-...  _ uh oh _ .

 

At the other end of the abandoned nursing home, the hinges on an ancient door screeched in protest as it was forced open, and the clatter of footprints striking old floorboards could be clearly heard reverberating through the halls as the echoes faded out. Damn. The paintergeist had hoped for a little more time, his work wasn’t quite done yet… but, it would have to do, he supposed.

With a sigh, he raised the can and made what seemed to be a series of vicious swipes at his latest creation; depressing the nozzle with every downward stroke, making it appear as if the movement had its own sound effects. Finished. 

Okay, not as detailed as he’d have liked… but sacrifices had to be made in the name of artistic integrity and not-getting-detention-for-a-few-hundred-years. Besides, he could always make a better version later. For now, there was fun to be had…

 

Porter slipped through the wall at his back, into the room adjacent. Thin walls allowed him to hear the progression of the huma-... normies, as they attempted to stealthily trudge through the place.   
Something interesting he’d learned recently, was that very few humans could actually see a ghost if said spectre didn’t want them to. Sure, maybe an outline, an impression of being watched; but not the full-translucent-bodied experience that was staring at any species of spectre. 

So he was theoretically safe for now, as long as they didn’t have a camera on them, that is.

 

-

 

It had been an accidental discovery, made the night preceding this one   
One minute he was fanging out in a decrepit old warehouse down by the waterfront - _ where he would occasionally sneak off to overnight when he had no classes, via the catacombs _ \- practicing the very skills that had earned him the nickname, ‘Paintergeist’... when suddenly, he’d been unexpectedly interrupted.   
Four or five members of what was either an established  paranormal investigation team, or some sort of leather fetish club seeking a quiet place to work out a few kinks, came bustling into his favourite New Salem haunt. These eager-faced normies were alarmingly armed to the teeth with  _ insane _ amounts of equipment. 

Cameras, booms, sound and frequency monitoring devices, spectrometers, infrared, motion-detectors… heck they even had night-vision goggles; he’d tried not to laugh, he really had.

 

That giggle had cost him a night of private painting. 

The minute it echoed off the rusty metal walls, they’d snapped into action; some setting up, others grabbing for cameras, and one intrepid young man waving some sort of electro-magnetic frequency detector in every direction while calling out greetings -apparently to Porter. Yeah, it was safe to say the paintergeist ended up laughing so hard he phased right through the floor and into the sewer systems before he could quash the amusement enough to return.

“Hello? Please don’t be afraid.. we’ve come in peace!” the younger fellow was calling out, as Porter re-emerged from the floor. However, the curious thing was… that even though the boo took to hovering several feet in front of the bleach-blonde’s face, and the EMF detector was practically screaming, none of them seemed to notice him there. They couldn’t… see him.    
Well, at least until one of those who had come running, aimed a camera at the EMF device; accidentally catching part of his foot in-frame. Porter only just managed to throw himself through the floor before they panned upwards and his cover was blown. Still, the partial view of his sneaker and leg were enough to send them into practical rapture, those with cameras swinging wildly in all directions to locate the rest of the…  _ Paint-om of the Oper-warehouse _ .

 

The perpetual shouting for  _ ‘any spectre in the vicinity to show themselves’ _ had intensified after that, but he decided not to risk it again. Well, wasn’t going to, until he heard the surprised cries of someone discovering his artwork for the first time; and got curious.

“Danny, over here!” said a female voice, he didn’t know which of them it had been. “Look what we found, it’s amazing!”

Porter found he could not help himself, and slipped back up behind the group; all clustered about the furthest wall where a large mural had been painted. It had been half-hidden in shadow from the perspective of someone at the entrance to the building, and was not his best work, just rudimentary things, really. 

Alright, so maybe it was actually his best attempt yet at painting Spectra… as he was still trying out different methods to really bring it to unlife; he wanted to give her something clawesome for the impending Valentine’s Day, and she’d never had a picture of herself before.   
Of corpse, that meant he’d have to use-...

“Amazing…” breathed the blonde guy, ‘Danny’, apparently. He was reaching out to touch the mural when the secondary properties of the ghost paint kicked in, and the entire picture began to fade out of existence slowly. 

If nothing else, Porter was a rebel who was considerate of other people’s property… it also made practicing easier if no one could ever see your original attempts and give away the big surprise. Once he’d perfected Spectra in ghost paint, he’d borrow some of Holt’s real stuff… but not just yet; Porter was convinced that he had yet to capture the beauty of her eyes correctly. 

 

The humans had scrabbled back, filming all the while and talking excitedly at one another about their successful ghost-hunting expedition. Their delight saturated the large, empty warehouse; how delighted they had been at the very idea that a ghost had been present. Well, it had given Porter a rather terrible idea. 

Shrieks of fear, tightly interwoven with awe and excitement, filled the warehouse that night; and not once had Porter let himself be seen. The boo was certain that the team had been the talk of the convention the next day; after all it wasn’t everynight a seemingly invisible spectre contrived to write, ‘ _ Nice Fanging Out With You, Danny-Boy _ !’ on the wall in front of your eyes, in slowly-dissolving paint.

 

Without letting on too much, the following morning, he’d questioned Spectra about the weird groups of normies running around town at night. Before his ghoulfiend could answer, Clawdeen Wolf had in-bite-d herself into the confursation with a loud laugh.    
  
“Who knows why normies do anything?” she practically shouts, then flattens her ears against her head as one of her classmates raises a pierced eyebrow at the she-werewolf. “Oh, sorry Jackson… what I meant was,  _ the normies that attend the convention _ do some freaky-weird stuff after dark. Blinding us with their bad fashion choices during the day, and then running around New Salem at night, staking out old and abandoned buildings or whatever… no idea why.”

“Well actually,” adds Jackson Jekyll, looking as if he’d dragged the infearmation out of some ancient memory vault and could not attest to it’s accuracy entirely. “They’re probably ghost-hunting… getting even the vaguest glimpse of a spectre on film can be very profitable. Most normies can’t see ghosts directly, unless you want them to, so they use cameras and other devices. And with haunting being so rare, ghost-hunting is a big industry, well, on the normie-internet, at least.”

Clawdeen is frowning, “That’s kind of weird, but I suppose it sorta makes sense? I mean, if you can’t see something but you know it’s actually there… you’d probably go to some strange extremes to get a look at it, right?”

Porter had suddenly thanked whichever gods were in charge of random locker allotment, for putting Clawdeen and Jackson so close by; because that short exchange answered a LOT of his questions.   
The bell went before he could think on how to subtly dig for further infearmation, and he had only come back to reality when he was halfway down the corridor, aimlessly following Holt Hyde to their shared Art Class. 

  
  


That was how he had found himself in the abandoned nursing home, armed with only his ghost paint cannisters, and a plan. 

Waiting until late at night for Vandala and River to take the large ghost-pirate ship out for a midnight voyage had been practical torture; but then again, while everyone was busy pretending they totally weren’t going against Headless Headmistress Bloodgood’s official no-sailing-ruling, he’d had an excellent opportunity to sneak out. Sliding down through the various layers of school until he hit the catacombs, and then followed the map on his iphone in the direction of a cluster of abandoned buildings in ‘Old Salem’ that he just knew would be viable targets for intrepid ghost-hunters tonight.

Guessing the exact building had been something he’d left to chance.   
Instead, Porter floated aimlessly through a few, tagging this and doodling that on walls near entrances and so-on; both for fun, and as part of a strategy to help locate the paranormal investigators when they arrived. He’d surmised that the decaying buildings - _ some old shops, a pair of run-down houses, an abandoned hospital and nursing home complex… and what seemed to be a burned-out playground _ \- would carry the sound of anything living right to wherever he was at the time. Especially, if they were perhaps loudly exclaiming in delight, or screaming in fear.

Either way, it felt like a good cobbled-together plan of action. 

Pure luck had seen the boo hastily painting a mural in the very abandoned locale that that night’s team of brave supernatural-seekers decided to enter. 

He waited for them to locate his newest freeform design, listening carefully for little tidbits of infearmation; who they were, what they were looking for, what kind of equipment they’d brought with them, that sort of thing. A sudden outburst of exuberant shouting, the mechanical whirring of camera lenses being hastily focused  and the thundering of multiple booted feet, let the Paintergeist know that the humans had found his latest art installation.

Fangtastic.   
Now, to give them the thrill they came all the way to New Salem for...

 

-)0(-

  
  



	3. ‘Cause Baby, Now We’ve Got Bad Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are happening in the Van Hellsing household, and they bode ill for monsters everywhere.

Hushed whispers crept up the stairs, curling about bannisters and clinging to the ornate wallpaper; wrapping a solemn warning about the young woman. 

It may have been beneath her station to crouch at the top of the main staircase, relying upon shadow to hide her face; but it became necessary, the moment foreign voices wrested her from the habitually-light beauty slumber. Strange accents she did not ever recall hearing, except through muffled, covert phonecalls at the crack of dawn; covered over almost immediately by a voice she knew, but could not place.

Her memory too entrapped within the cobwebs of sleep to divulge why the deep voice was so familiar, why it called to someone she used to be; but felt so incredibly wrong to think of fondly. Whatever it was, must clearly be rooted deeply within ‘the family business’, which, rather ironically, her family had taken great pains to exclude her from in recent times.

Dare to believe that perhaps monsters are not just sentient beings who deserve to be treated as such, and suddenly you are no longer privy to any form of family activity. That said, the vast majority of family events and discussions were firmly planted within the realm of Monster Hunting, which meant that exclusion from that particular side of their lives… was pretty much exclusion from the family itself.

Who had ever heard of a Van Hellscream that no longer gloried in the legacy of their Monster Hunting lineage?

 

Lillith Van Hellscream was the first in the family’s history to ever throw down her legacy, for the sake of a friendship - _ or ‘fiendship’ as it was called on the other side of town _ \- with a monster. Cleo de Nile, to be exact. The Royal Daughter of Ancient Egypt had maintained their relationship since the previous Halloween; despite the obvious disapproval of both the Van Hellscreams, and His Majesty, Pharaoh.    
Girl and Ghoul made deliberate public appearances with one another in strategic places, to help cement newly-formed monster-human relations; and also, as a form of penance for… for what went down the previous Halloween. 

Though many seemed to appreciate the effort they went to, many more still ran interference if she tried to get close to her almost-victims; even for the avowed purpose of presenting an apology. Therefore, in the name of fiendship and future forgiveness, Lillith decided long ago that her role would be one of informant; to keep her new monster fiends safe. From her family; from other lesser hunting groups. It was the very least she could do.

 

It was the main reason she was attempting to stealthily eavesdrop on their sudden cluster of  midnight visitors. Awoken when the front door creaked, Lillith had heard them arrive, not as quietly as they could have in all honesty. If indeed they were all hunters, and it appeared that was the case given the secrecy surrounding their late night collusion; then they should be downright ashamed of themselves for their heavy tread and lack of caution. 

Certainly, her mother had sent a servant up to check whether she slept, upon their arrival; it was child’s play for Lillith to fool poor Annoria, into believing she was still resting. The elderly woman had been with their family since before she was born, and even the best prescription her family could afford, was unable to assist the maid-servant with her deteriorating sight.   
Guilt curled tightly in her stomach as Annoria had come over to pull the sheets back up and over her, patting her on the shoulder as she used to when Lillith had required being tucked in all those years ago; and said that quiet, raspy tone, “ _ Just stay asleep child, that world is beneath you now. Don’t go getting mixed up in it again. _ ”

...thinking back, perhaps Annoria had known she was awake.

She shook her head and listened harder, whispers were elusive and indistinct.   
All she could make out for certain were snatches; maybe the words, ‘monsters’, ‘convention’, ‘time’ and ‘electricity’. They seemed to have been repeated twice, maybe three time apiece, yet nothing else was distinct enough… it was disappointing. How could she prove herself a worthy ally to her monster companions, if she could not even provide basic information?

 

Lillith bit her lip, hands curling into claws in frustration; she screamed internally, but otherwise made no sound to betray her presence. 

Or maybe she did. She had not meant to… but there was a pause in conversation downstairs, and that oddly-familiar voice distinctly asked her father if Lillith was home at current. A trill of fear lanced down her spine, but she dare not move; everyone was clearly listening.

“Why yes, if you’ll recall my wife sent Annoria up when you arrived to confirm she was still asleep. I would not advise waking her, she must be well-rested to excel in her upcoming exams… even if she will not take up the family mantel, we will not stand for anything less than perfection!”    
Ah, Father. Always finding newer, higher standards she would always strive to reach, just on the tiniest chance that it might endear her to her disapproving parents; and make up for the whole, ‘ _ closest friend happens to be a royal egyptian mummy _ ’ debacle.

 

“Are you certain?” the voice asked again.

Hesitation.

“I… could always send Annoria back up there, just to check, if it makes you more comfortable?” her mother interjects into the silence. 

 

Whoever this person was, clearly someone high up in the order of things if HER PARENTS were acting so demurely about them, must have given some sign of non-verbal assent. A nod, a wave, something… for in a second, her mother had rung the tiny bell that called Annoria to attention, and bade the elderly woman once more ascend the treacherous staircase under darkened conditions, to go and check on Lillith.

 

Feeling very much like every movement invoked a cacophony of sound, announcing her trespass with every centimetre gained… she slowly, yet hurriedly, returned to her room. Standing only when she made the hallway, carpeted floor absorbing all sound of rushing feet.

She was in bed, mentally relaxing her musclature, when Annoria opened the door.

“Miss Lillith, you awake in there?” said the older woman, shuffling in. She tutts, seeing the sheets are mussed once more, and pulls them back up. “You’re a sly one, child… but you have a good heart; Lord knows why you were born into this family. Whatever you’re planning on doing, do it smart. They won’t be so forgiving a second time.”

Annoria pats her on the head, hand lingering a moment, and then leaves. The door remains ajar behind her, filtering in the occasional word of conversation from downstairs.

 

Heart in her throat, Lillith hides under her covers and frantically taps away at the keyboard of the off monster phone Cleo had given her, for ease of communication.

.

  
**Time:** 03:46am   
**To:** Cleo de Nile ( _ @Ra’sChosenOne _ )

_ Cleo, _

_ Please be careful. _ _   
_ _ I don’t know what’s going on, exactly; but there are strange hunters holding secretive meetings at my house in the middle of the night. They seem to be talking about the paranormal convention, I believe they may be using it as a cover to get close to monsters. And something about ‘electricity’.  _ _   
_ __ Be careful. Be safe. I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.

_ -DesignerDiva _

.

 

She hit  _ Send _ with a degree of desperation, hoping the warning would be received in time.

 

-)0(-

 

On the one hand, the ingenuity shown by certain spectral members of the student-dead-body in furthering human-monster relations, was commendable. It really brightened up the mid-week slump that always seemed to fall over the school, come Wednesday.

On the other hand, a certain Headless Headmistress was decidedly NOT pleased with the stitchuation several of her newest students had landed her in. Intriguing or otherwise.   
Once more, she was forced to offer pleasantries and entertain that odious idiot of a man from the New Salem Police Department, when all she would prefer to do is toss him into the roiling lava pits that the student lounge overlooked. 

Still, she left a smile on her face, and her head on the desk.   
There was some slight thrill in noting his discomfort at addressing her thusly, but it faded as he continued to yammer on about ‘some damn spook causing a public disturbance among the convention goers’.

 

In actuality, what she believed to have happened upon review of the footage ( _ now uploaded to the normie-equivalent of frightube, but already viral enough to have flagged Ghoulia’s monster-high-mention monitoring software _ ), was that a certain group of individuals referring to themselves as ‘Ghost Chasers’ had happened upon an art installation by one of their more creative students. Which in turn had led to some, perhaps inadvisable, impromptu interaction between humans and ghost; nothing that could overtly identify the who, thankfully, or she would have been forced to let the man remove Mr Geiss from school property under arrest. With much the same helplessness as she had had to allow them to try and Trick-or-Treat two of her students the previous year.

Except, she just wasn’t playing along.

“I’m sorry, sir. Given the footage evidence, which is heavily distorted by the use of cheap night vision equipment, I am afraid that it will not be possible to make a positive identification of the student involved -if any- from two eyes and a flash of, what I believe, may have been an elbow protruding from a wall.” Her expression remained neutral, but if her control had not been so ironclad; the Headless Headmistress’s body would have been dancing in victory. 

 

In response, his expression seemed to grow tighter; those thin lips compressing to a white line of withheld anger. 

“But you do know the art, right? That kind of talent doesn’t go unnoticed, especially at your school.” he counters.

Well, he had her there.

“I will have to confer with our Art teachers,” Bloodgood managed, stalling as best she could. “As I have stated before, the footage is difficult to assess, and it seems the whatever substance was used… was temporary. This will require an internal investigation.” 

She assured the pesky little official of her intent to see this through, with a stern nod. Although, from his perspective, it seemed she merely inclined her head the briefest measure; he seemed to be going rather pale under that odd moustache. Fangtastic.

He fidgeted a moment, visibly wracking his brains for any way he could possibly challenge her on this… and eventually settled on a stern, “See that you do. The New Salem Police Department will be in contact again, Miss Bloodgood; in the meantime, please attempt to contain your students. We don’t need the decent folk of this town bothered, especially not when we’re full to the brim with tourists and all the misdemeanours they bring with them.”

 

Her expression was entirely sincere as she replace her head atop her body. “Of corpse, Sheriff. Of corpse. Would you like me to show you out?” she says, cordially, moving about her desk to open the office door.

He strides past without a word, nearly knocking over Ghoulia Yelps, Deuce Gorgon and Jackson Jekyll who were  _ somewhat conveniently _ walking past. The Gorgon  _ only just _ manages to stop the zombie-ghoul from hitting the floor, going by feel because the jolt had sent his sunglasses skittering across the tile; to be retrieved by the third in the equation. Who carefully slid them back on Deuce’s face, so the boo could visibly check if Ghoulia was okay, after being practically body-slammed by someone several times her size.

Now it was Bloodgood’s turn to press her lips into a thin line, and choke back the bitter words that she almost physically  _ longed _ to hurl at the swaggering fool of a man; but, at the same time, the Headmistress knew his position afforded him the power and authority to do as he liked. She could not afford the retribution he would bring down on his innocent students, should the true perception of his character ever leave her lips.

 

Students skimmed to both sides of the hall as he strode through.    
Though Bloodgood could only see his back, she knew the irritating normie must have been smirking; enjoying the way teenagers,  _ monsters, _ curled away from him in what he must assume is fear or respect. A closer word would be disgust; the memory of his crazed monster-hunt from the year before preceded the Sheriff wherever he went in the non-human community of New Salem. 

He would most likely not die in his sleep, or of old age; no man like him ever did. They made too many enemies when they thought themselves untouchable and failed to realise the vulnerability of losing their position, their power and influence. All that held people loyal to them before.   
Though this unsavoury, if well-earned, demise was not one that could be carried out anytime soon; at current the human could not be touched without consequence. 

But monsters, if anything, are patient.

Especially the immortals.

 

However, for now…

 

She turns to face the trio of students who seemed to be in just the right place at the wrong time.   
“You are not injured, Ghoulia?”

The blue ghoul genius shakes her head, affirming that she is indeed alright, despite the roughness with which she was treated.

 

The Headmistress sweeps her gaze over Ghoulia, just in case.   
Finding nothing askew or out of place, she turns to Deuce. “In that case, Mr Gorgon, could I trouble you to round up Spectra Vondergeist, Porter Geiss and the other ghost transfer-students? I believe they have Biteology right now, Lab 14.” 

 

He smiles easily, “Sure thing, babe.”

Bloodgood raises an eyebrow at his response, and he vocally fumbles for a second, before recovering with, “Uh, I mean… Sure Thing, Headmistress Babe.”

She nods dismissively, watching him leave in the opposite direction the Sheriff took.   
It is a long moment before he disappears completely; most students have drained into classrooms at this point; so her words, carefully chosen, are not caught by the wrong ears.

Without looking at them, Bloodgood says, “Miss Yelps, Mr Jekyll?”   
In her peripheral vision, they stand a little straighter, heads turned towards her. The unspoken, ‘Yes?’ hangs between them in the air.

  
She turns to face them, “...do destroy that little man’s evidence, would you?”

 

The pair of technically-adept monsters look to one another for what seems to be the longest second in the entire history of time, before a slow, somewhat concerning beam filters across first one face, then the other.

“Of corpse, Headmistress…” they chorus; the slight dissonance between english and zombie, making it the tiniest fathom more concerningly creepy than before. She found herself rather proud.

 

Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode back into her office; to await the arrival of a certain Paintergeist and his fiends.


	4. Just Ghost to Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos, as usual. Things are... happening.

Counting to ten internally, Cleo tried to keep calm.

But as the number ‘eight’ rolled across her mind, fury began to flood her body like the Nile itself breaking banks to inundate all of Egypt.   _ For the love of Ra _ , where the hex was Deuce?    
They were supposed to be having lunch period together today, and although the mummy ghoul freely admits she was rather early, the acceptable time for tardiness on her manster’s part was slowly elapsing.

Just the period before, they’d been sitting at their desk in Mad Science, adjacent to one another; though she worked with Ghoulia, and Deuce with Jackson. At no point did he give any indication of differing plans, or that their lunch date was off!

Perhaps she should not have detoured into the bathroom on the way to their lockers?   
He may have gotten the wrong idea, like maybe that Cleo had alternative plans for their only aligned lunch period of the week. Wednesday being the only time when her schedule, and his, allowed for the pair to have an entire lunch period together without additional obligations -such as casketball or fearleading- stealing them away.

It was very important to them to maintain it.

  
  


And yet, here she was… alone, at their neatly aligned lockers. No manster, no message, no-... fang on!

Hastily, the princess of ancient egypt pulled out her icoffin and immediately noted that it was not, indeed, on. She felt her frustration grow as all attempts to activate her most beloved accessory failed miserably; and she could locate no charger cord within her handbag.   
Overhead, the hallway lights began flickering in a stuttering pattern of illumination and darkness; there must be some sort of Mad Science experiment going on, or perhaps Frankie was re-charging from the wrong socket, again. It tended to happen.

Speaking of the frankenstein ghoul…

 

“Frankie, a minute, if you would?” she calls sweetly, as one of her closest fiends passed by; a dazed smile on her mint-green face. Probably got a love poem or playlist from Holt again, the boo never ceased trying, despite Frankie’s oft-wandering affection; but then again, she could not be faulted for having a big heart… maybe it was meant for more than one?    
If it could reasonably contain two, equally,  it would resolve  _ a lot  _ of issues.   
Only time would tell.

 

“Hey Cleo, what’s up?” the other said brightly, eyes glowing faintly and illuminating her face eerily, as they plunged into darkness over and over in this never-ending power surge.    
  
“Many things, Frankie. Many things. I am, as ever, a busy ghoul… but it seems that in my haste to get here, a certain iCoffin charger was not packed…” she let the sentence trail off, visibly watching the way the sudden realisation washed over Frankie’s face. 

“Oh! Oh, I can help with that!” she beams, putting her index finger on one hand, to a bolt on her neck and pointing the same finger on her opposing hand, at the icoffin’s charger port. A shock of blue-green energy zapped between the two points like a lightning strike; and in only a short second, the icoffin was cheerily bleeping at Cleo as it turned on. 

“Let me know if you need anything else!” Frankie smiles, waving as she half-jogs off to join a frantically-waving Draculaura. Gil must have done something romantic, because the tiny pink vampire was standing beside a Lagoona whose expression could only be described as ‘pleasantly dazed’. 

 

An unanticipated ringtone began to play, briefly, to signify she had received a message from her close normi-...  _ human _ friend, Lillith Van Hellscream. Not Deuce, but that was a problem for another time. 

‘DesignerDiva’ rarely messaged her via the iCoffin she’d been gifted; they usually called  to talk to one another, it left less physical evidence should the device be discovered by her family. So this was clearly a very important something she needed to share.

.

**Time:** 03:46am   
**To:** Cleo de Nile ( _ @Ra’sChosenOne _ )

_ Cleo, _

_ Please be careful. _ _   
_ _ I don’t know what’s going on, exactly; but there are strange hunters holding secretive meetings at my house in the middle of the night. They seem to be talking about the paranormal convention, I believe they may be using it as a cover to get close to monsters. And something about ‘electricity’.  _ _   
_ __ Be careful. Be safe. I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.

_ -DesignerDiva _

.

 

It had been sent early Tuesday morning; how long, exactly, had her phone been turned off?   
  
Though this infearmation was incredibly useful in an objective sort of way, Cleo was not entirely certain what to do with it; had she been who she was last Halloween, the princess would have Ghoulia send the message to the entire school, installing herself as leader of the movement to storm the convention and rout the hunters from their false personas by force.    
Of corpse, that was a time when the approval of her Mummy… hmm, Daddy… had meant more to her; now, it was simply, something that may or may not come her way and she was not overly bother in either eventuality. Cleo had Deuce, and he was imperfectly perfect; accepted her flaws without demanding ever-increasingly difficult things of her. 

If she had to choose one, it would be her gore-geous boofiend, Deuce, over her Mummy…  _ hmmm, Daddy _ … anyday.

 

What to do with it, though?

Telling others might incite panic in the student-dead-body.   
Perhaps a Creature? No, like with all problems, you needed to take it head on; she would take the infearmation right to Bloodgood, and see what the Headmistress made of it.

All thoughts of the lunchdate fell from her mind, as Cleo strode purposefully towards the Headless Headmistress’s office.

 

-)0(-

 

Okay, stick-in-the-mud normie law enforcement aside, it had been a pretty clawesome idea.

 

“Mr Geiss, whilst you are at this school I am afraid there are certain restrictions and rules you must adhere to in the interests of both your own safety, and that of the entire school. We live alongside our human counterparts in New Salem, and sometimes this requires us to make certain… compensations, for their actions; however, the same courtesy has yet to be extended to us. Further interactions with the normies partaking in the local convention must cease, in the interests of further positive relations with the non-monster community. D you understand?” Headless Headmistress Bloodgood had asked the poltergeist.

 

Well, yes. Understanding the why behind it was easily done; but fathoming the inequality behind the words, was not. 

None of the paranormal investigators had been hurt, or even more than generally over-excited, by the whole ordeal. A few bits of ghost-graffitti here, some spooky noises there… an arm caught innocuously on camera, and maybe the cameragirl’s name ghost-spray-painted on the front door as they exit… 

It’s nothing more than an amazing evening for the normies. One that has apparently rocketed them to fame, according to the latest internet articles plaguing the normie and monster internet spheres.

“Mr Geiss?” prompted the Principal again, trying to look stern despite the perpetually flickering lights.

 

Whoops.

“Er, yes, I get it. There wasn’t any plan to hurt anyone, though, I just wanted to give them a scaremazing spooky story to take home with them.” Porter adds, looking at the desk. Or more accurately, Spectra’s reflection in the polished surface. 

Vandala, River, Kiyomi and Spectra hovered aimlessly beside the paintergeist; awaiting whatever declaration they’d been sent for, to hear. The Headless Headmistress did not bandy her words, so the reason would be revealed in short order.

 

“Be that as it may, your altruistic tendencies will have to be curbed this particular time around, Mr Geiss. After… recent events, we cannot stand to agitate local law enforcement, or give them just cause to have you dragged from this educational establishment in chains. And mark my words,” she intoned gravely; her body leaning back and folding it’s hands as her head glared at them from the desktop. “they will find cause to do so, if they perceive your continued interactions with humans as a threat, which they will.”

 

“Um, don’t you mean ‘just cause’, as in  _ find a  _ just cause _ to arrest Porter _ ?” asked River, her voice gave rise to the room-wide realisation that the spooky-sweet ghoul was daydreaming and only barely holding onto the con-fur-sation. 

 

Bloodgood’s smile was tight and tense. “No Miss Styxx, I assure you… when the New Salem Police Department gets involved in a monster-related matter… there is nothing just, and no justice, about it. It becomes a mindless witch-hunt. Something we are hoping to avoid with young Mr Geiss here, if only he would cooperate fully and promise that he will not sneak out of the school late at night again.    
If you must paint,” she directs at Porter. “there are many fine art classrooms and walls within Monster High that you are entitled to use, as a student.”

 

He blinks. “You got it, Headmistress.”

 

“Now, I have some sad news for both Miss Doubloons, and Miss Styxx.    
Vandala, River, due to ongoing concerns regarding your safety during the next four days of this convention and the increased police presence about the center, I must ask you to refrain from using your respective ships.” Bloodgood raises a hand to forestall their horrified counter-arguments. “Please, calm yourselves. If, by any chance, there is an unavoidable need for you to sail… for mental health reasons, of corpse… then it might be stated that an allowance of a singular two-hour trip of a midnight, might be allowable.  Provided that only the smaller of the two vessels is used, and there will be no additional weaponry attached to said craft. Ghost pirate ship cannons tend to put people ill at ease.   
  
In addition… loud, lewd sea shanties will NOT be sung when passing any housing districts near the schools. We have received parental complaints about underage imitations of the lyrics, which have ended in unfortunate groundings. That is all, you may go now.   
Oh, and Miss Vondergeist… do keep the discussed infearmation from your column for the time being, it would be a shame to induce panic amongst the student-dead-body for no true reason.” 

 

Those from the Ghost World hovered into a vertical position, inclined their heads in agreement, and began to float towards the door of the office…

...which then slammed open with  all the explosive force of a charging minotaur meeting a cardboard barricade.

 

“HEADMISTRESS, I have received some CONCERNING NEWS!” came the high, affected voice of one Cleo de Nile. She had an icoffin clutched in one hand, and a wild look on her face.  “My fiend Lillith, who - _ if you should be questioned on this knowledge _ \- you’ve never heard tell of, has sent a dire warning to me through the icoffin I gifted her at Cryptsmas.”

Porter wasn’t entirely sure why the last bit was relevant, but Headmistress Bloodgood and Spectra seemed to be nodding. 

“Do go on…” invited the Headless Headmistress with an encouraging gesture.

 

Cleo slid the phone across the table instead of speaking aloud the message that is clearly causing her great concern.    
“I think you need to read it with your own eyes, Headmistress.” she says, a tone of quiet determination edging her voice. The iCoffin makes a slight scraping noise as it slides across the desk towards Bloodgood, the Headless Headmistress’s expression inscrutable as she reads the text.

In the pensive silence that followed, the Dullahan sighs deeply, tone wearier than her impassive expression would suggest. She places the telecommunication device face-down on the desk and clasps both hands together, going for a calm, commanding look as the Headmistress faces down the students.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss de Nile. It seems that the infearmation that the young Miss Van Hellscream, though limited, is of an incredibly serious nature; this allegation of a potential threat against the students of this school, and the monsters of this community, places us in a delicate position.” Bloodgood steeples her fingers, face pinched. “If indeed, she is correct… then the entire school must be placed on guard and no student allowed alone for more than a moment.”

 

Everyone in the room could sense the impending ‘but’ in the Headless Headmistress’s response. It was a vibrant hum that pervaded the dramatic silence following her statement, one that promised a deeper edge to this dark confursation. 

The Headmistress did not wait overlong.    
With a sigh, she continued. “However,  _ and it is not that I am disinclined to believe the warning the human ghoul has risked her position to send _ , but more the fact that any action or verbal expression of concern pertaining to this threat, may send the student dead-body into a state of panic…”

  
  


“Which would make them easier targets…” Vandala finished, nodding her understanding.   
  
The pirate-ghost ghoul hadn’t been around this educational establishment for very long, but it was fairly easy for an outsider to observe how emotionally charged many of these students were under average circumstances. Providing a spark of panic, of fear, amongst them… well, it would have about the same spectacularly detrimental effect as touching a lit match to a powder keg.    
Making Monster High’s student dead-body the exact opposite of her former school’s; who were quite muted in their emotional responses, for fear of retribution from their own punishment-crazed principal. At first, it had been a delightful change… but now, posed a potential problem. 

 

“Exactly, Miss Doubloons.” The Principal stated, inclining her head towards Vandala. “As you can see, the best course of action will be to keep this information… under wraps.”

This statement was accompanied by a very purposeful glare at Spectra; only ceasing when the gossip-inclined spectre looked floorward, rubbing an arm sheepishly with her other hand, and gave a slight nod.  Porter, on the other hand, threw the Headmistress a nasty look and moved in to put an arm about his ghoulfiend.

Perhaps it was unfair of the school head to single out Spectra so semi-publically, but to be completely honest, if any of the occupants of the room were likely to be tempted to share this con-fin-dential infearmation… it would be the ghostly gossip.    
Sometimes she couldn’t help but get carried away when even a fragment of some fantabulously juicy news was dangled before the ghoul; it was her major freaky flaw.

 

“We understand, Headmistress.” Added Kiyomi Haunterly, her featureless face somehow giving the impression of her naked sincerity about the simple statement. “Nothing discussed will be shared with those outside of this classroom, until you wish it so.”

 

“I appreciate that more than words can express, Miss Haunterly.” Bloodgood acknowledges, and turns again to Cleo. “Miss de Nile, please express my gratitude to… Lillith, was it? And, do let her know that, even though further infearmation on this subject would be incredibly helpful, I do not want her putting herself in a dangerous position to do so. Hunters do not take kindly to those who sympathise with monsters; and it may be that only the power of  her family’s name has kept her safe for this long. Should her involvement with this… potential stitchuation ever come to light, Miss Van Hellscream may be placed in peril.   
And, while there have been many times in the past where humans have caused harm to monsters, I do not hold it against the children; and would not see her harmed, as I would not see you, or any of the other students, harmed.”

 

Overhead, the lights buzzed and flickered, emitting ominous crackles throughout her brief speech.    
Cleo nods grimly, taking up the iCoffin and typing away. Supernaturally beautiful face periodically illuminated by the backlight of her phone’s screen, as power shifted on and off intermittently. Her slender, bandaged fingers paused over the keys for a split-second as the royal mummy ghoul cleared her throat imperiously. “Ahem. Spectra?” 

Ever-curious, the school’s resident journalist had subconsciously drifted across the room to stare over Cleo’s shoulder; absently reading the text and response in it’s unsent entirety.    
“Oops!” Spectra laughed nervously, jolting backwards with her hands raised guiltily, “Sorry, I didn’t even realise I was doing that!” 

Momentarily, Cleo’s expression tightened, as if she was trying to decide which confidence-destroying insult she might pull from her ever-ready arsenal, to correct the spectre for daring to move within her royal personal space; not even mentioning the breach of privacy. But, only a second afterwards, her facial features relax… and the mummy sighs, long and dramatically.

“No, it’s… fine.”

 

It was so uncharacteristic of the Princess, that it caught Spectra off guard; and the spectre had to be fished out of the floor by her equally-translucent fiends. River was trying not to openly giggle at the stitchuation, and Porter asking if Spectra was alright in a quiet, concerned tone. Sure, ghosts were supposed to move through things at will, but it took a real lapse of concentration to fall through a floor or object.    
Which was actually a huge factor in why the slightly-scatter-brained and easily-distracted mermaid-ghost hybrid, Sirena Von Boo, was perpetually (and oft-inadvertently), phasing through things. 

 

She brushes off Porter’s overly-cautious questioning to hover back over to Cleo.   
“Are you alright?” she asks, eyes fixed on the often-inscrutable and impassive face of one Cleo de Nile. Right now, she looked a little lost; with a tinge of guilt marring those vacant eyes, evident in the way the de Nile was biting her lower lip. 

“Hmmm…?” was the response. 

Spectra waves a translucent white hand in front of Cleo’s face, until the other ghoul blinks in surprise; leaving Vandala to make a rather impressive dive in order to stop the iCoffin, that had slipped from inattentive fingers, shattering on the hard floor. Alright, now even the new students knew something was up.

Cleo sighs again, cutting off a further question from Spectra.   
“It’s… nothing.”

 

Now, in the entire time that Spectra had attended Monster High and dedicated herself to writing the news; Cleo de Nile (and her boofiend, Deuce Gorgon) were frequently the main source of gossip and infearmation, the standard by which all the others could be measured. The ‘It Couple’, as it were. Odd as it may seem, she had studied the pair -both as a unit, and apart; and knew that this reaction was rather… un-Cleo-like. There should be an imperious sneer as the other ghoul delivers a backhanded compliment, to deflect her snooping, that should leave her mentally and emotionally scarred for years to come.

But no. She just stares.

 

“That’s not true, is it?” she prods, gently. “It’s not nothing, because you’re upset.”

The Egyptian Princess snaps her head sharply to the side so she could see Spectra, eyes wide and shocked. Paranormally, very few could ever see beneath the persona she had perfected; feeling exposed was akin to being naked in a room full of people you know, in the general sense, but not well enough to be completely comfortable.    
She stares for a few seconds, as Vandala carefully slides the iCoffin back into her hands, giving them a pat as she does before retreating; then deflates.

“Halloween.” Cleo intoned, out of nowhere. “It’s Halloween all over again, that’s what it feels like to me. Except, instead of just Holt and Jackson, everyone is now a potential target of misguided normie hatred. And again, it is in part because of me, that this is so difficult to resolve… Lillith lost her place in her family, after Halloween... after they found out we were fiends. Imagine what they would do if they found out about the iCoffin messages? They already search her normie phone and emails…”

Spectra took her hand. “Cleo, it’s not like Halloween at all.”   
THAT startled the princess. The ghostly gossip continued, “Your fiend was very brave to send us that message, but now we know what might be coming, we can protect the others.   
Even if withholding this amazing story makes me want to LIVE, I will do it. And if I can do that, you can tell yourself this stitchuation is not your doing, it  _ will  _ be okay. Trust me.”

 

Cleo locks her gaze with Spectra’s, personality visibly returning as the expression turned determined where once it seemed lost, and she nodded. Fingers decisively stabbing at the iCoffin screen to complete the message and send it to her human fiend.   
Once the ‘Sent’ dialogue box closed, she showed Spectra the screen; the ghost not even bothering to feign that she wasn’t entirely curious to see the conversational exchange in it’s entirety.

.

_ Time: 12:46am _ _   
_ _ To: DesignerDiva _

_   
_ _ Have made HHBloodgood aware of the stichuation. _ _   
_ _ She thanks you, and advises to keep safe; don’t put yourself in danger on our account.  _ _   
_ __ Oh, and please don’t discuss this infearmation with anyone but myself, HHB or Spectra and her fiends; it might cause a panic. Which is to be avodied.

_ Hope you are okay, and will see Saturday @8am. _

_ -Ra’sChosenOne _

.

 

“And before you ask, no it’s not a date…” Cleo advises, a playful hint to her tone now she was back in control of herself. “Our schedules have finally aligned, so that I can drag her to the Maul and find her some new clothes. Having an entire wardrobe of designer, hunter-inspired attire, when you are no longer one… is rather like trying to move sandstone blocks across dry sand.”

She laughs, but it fades when she realises the nuances were lost on the rest of the room.    
“...well you see, to move them, we used a water-based method wherein-...” she was cut-off by Bloodgood’s raised hand, requesting silence as the buzzing and flickering grew cacophonous. 

 

The Headmistress frowns deeply as she glances, briefly, up at the lightbulbs dotting her office; only looking down and away,  the barest of split-seconds prior to all thirteen of the chandelier bulbs exploding. Showering down slivers of hot glass upon the room’s occupants, in the sudden darkness.   
Only the faint ethereal luminescence of the ghost students gave the room any form of light at all.

 

Spectra remained by Cleo, so the other ghoul could use her light to peer into the surrounding gloom. The other ghosts hovered near desk and door, like warning buoys.   
It must be noted that the Principal’s office was built to withstand many scenarios; from plain assault, to providing protection for sun-shy students. To that end, it was almost entirely an enclosed space; and if the lights were turned out, all was darkness. A failsafe, or perhaps a more apt description would be ‘sun-proof panic room’ in which vampires, boogeymen and other heat or light-fearing monster types could retreat.   
As such, it happened to make the few rare blackouts the school had experienced… far more likely to invoke minor injury; such as slamming into furniture or walking into walls. Especially if one’s biteology was not adapted to allowing even meagre visual acuity in such environments and circumstances.   
  
Bloodgood takes off her head in contemplation, before reaching for the phone upon her desk; most likely to call in maintainence. 

The students took this as a sign they were dismissed.

Porter, Vandala, River and Kiyomi didn’t move an inch as Spectra guided Cleo to the barely-visible door. Swinging it wide so that the weak light of the also-darkened corridor could spill in; it seemed the school’s powergrid must have been overloaded. Not unusual.

 

Possibly Miss Frankie Stein using the wrong, non-adapted power outlet to recharge; or maybe it was reanimation experiment day in Mad Science. The latter caused frequent havoc with the electricity, but never to this extent; and, even if it had been that which caused this chaos, it could hardly be cancelled. Reanimation day was amongst one of the best experimental days to be had in Mad Science, to cease the annual phenomena… would surely cause rioting.

 

“Oh,” the sudden raising of the Headmistress’s voice caused all to turn and face Bloodgood, as they were exiting the room. She looked at them sharply. “I trust you will all remain silent about this matter?”

All present nodded, understanding the gravity of her vague allusion to discussed topics.   
Other students were beginning to mill about in the corridors, some fumbling, others guiding as best they could.

 

“And, though it pains me to halt your creativity… Mr Geiss, I must ask you not try another of your… collaborative exercises, with the convention attendees.” Bloodgood informs in a tone that broaches no argument, and even though Porter had known it was coming… it still felt like a jolt of lightning to his body. “I am truly sorry.”

 

This time, it is Spectra who comes to comfort him; Kiyomi having taken over guiding the Princess of the Nile through the gloom. The Noppera-bo doing her best to show only paths down the hallway wherein Cleo would be unlikely to tread in the debris of dozens of shattered light bulbs and rods.    
The pair moving away rapidly, in search of at least one of their more corporeal mutual fiends, with which to commiserate the shared absence of proper light.

 

“And, please adhere to the guidelines I have provide regarding your midnight voyages, Miss Doubloons, Miss Styxx. They are for your protection.”she adds seriously, before softening. “You may go now, thank you for your cooperation.”

 

River and Vandala immediately fell to flanking Spectra and Porter, as the spectral couple floated away down the hall. Where didn’t seem to matter, lunch was just about complete; and it was unlikely that classes would resume anytime soon. Really, it was a just a matter of time before Creatures mobilised with official word, to let the students go home early today.    
  


  
Behind them, the rotating dialing sequence of Bloodgood’s ancient office phone whirred and clunked; her body carefully holding the receiver close to her head’s left side.   
It took only four rings before an overly-enthusiastic young woman with a garbled name, came on the phone to greet her in the name of ‘Valhowlla Electrical Services’.

“How may I help you today?” said the eerily perky voice, one she could never before recall hearing. There was a pause. “Uh, Ma’am? Are you there?”

Bloodgood shook herself, blinking rapidly to come back to the stitchuation at hand.   
“Oh, yes, sorry about that… I’m calling to report an electrical issue at Monster High; we seem to have had a major power surge, resulting in shattered light fixtures and a school-wide blackout. Is there any chance you could send someone today?”

 

“Oh yes Ma’am,” said the perky voice that unsettled the Dullahan deep in her core, for reasons even she did not fully understand. “In fact, we’ll make it our top priority to get someone in there by the end of the day!”

 

Bloodgood hung up in a haze of disconcertion, but waved it off as fatigue brought on by the myriad of events unfolding in quick succession over the course of the day.    
After all, now was not the time to allow the mind free reign to wander… many things needed doing; the least of which was organising the Fa-Cruelty into a cohesive unit, so that they might swiftly and expediently, send the entire student dead-body home before the electricians arrived.

 

With that thought, the Headless Headmistress’s body scooped her head under an arm and stroke out with almost effortless grace under the circumstances; misgivings utterly forgotten in the face of duty.

  
  



	5. Decease and Desist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain Sheriff's having a Real Bad Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember I wrote all of thi in a blur a few years back, and it has not been edited.   
> Just thought 'why not fling the actually-written, semi-edited chapters out there?'
> 
> Promise I'll actually finish and edit it one day.

“WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?” screamed a Deputy, frantically slamming Backspace as the screen fritzed on him. A never-ending scroll of information shot past on the ancient monitor, some highlighting randomly as if selected, others disappearing at rapid speeds before anyone could grasp what had been lost.

Storming from his office in a blind panic, the Sheriff looked for Deputy Murphy, she always knew what to do in crises; from a hostage situation to large, icky spider incursion in his office. The computer in his office had ceased playback on the cat video he was watching, switching open dozens of tabs that all seemed to be playing that ‘ghost footage’ over and over on a loop. 

 

He’d tried everything to make it stop.

Trying to shut the tabs -it only opened more, increasing the volume and distortion.

Shutting the program… which did nothing.

Backspace.

Control, Alt, Delete.

Backspace, but held down for ten seconds.

Stabbing at random keys.

Trying to open Task Manager.

He’d even held down the Power button to make it turn off, but to no avail… something had short circuited the manual shutdown. 

Everything!   


And none of it worked in the least. The man was not afraid to admit that when it came to this insane situation, he was utterly out of ideas.     
It was only when he cleared the room and discovered it was a station-wide epidemic of technology gone haywire, that he began to suspect foul play; and not just some sort of random virus infestation contracted by certain police officials who maybe were watching a few not-safe-for-work videos while working late one night. 

 

“Murphy!” he shouts, above the chaotic clamour of officers, deputies and desk staff all frantically attempting to regain control of various computers running through different system. “Murphyyyyyyyyyy!” 

“Sir, she’s been on holidays for the past fortnight.” Calls Sharon, their main secretar-... er, administrative professional. “And no, you can’t call her. Detective Murphy left strict instructions that she will be uncontactable on her honeymoon, especially to you, sir.”

Sharon cringes at the words, seeing the anger build in the already infuriated Sheriff; it was going to explode sooner or later. True, he was mad… but not at Detective Murphy or her new wife, it was more that their honeymoon had fallen directly upon the one time of year when he needed his most capable closest. Now he was two officers down, surrounded by an influx of supernatural-seeking tourists who couldn’t find a monster if the abominations all ran around covered in christmas lights; he was perpetually having to deal with that insane headless woman every five minutes because she couldn’t control her wayward students… and now, the entire New Salem Police Department’s systems were under attack.

 

To his left, a printer whirred to life. In fact, every printer in the building began to feverishly spit out paper at great speed… coating the floor in a sea of off-white former-trees.    
Officers and admin staff attempted to gather up the pages, exclaiming in confusion over the wildly varying content; from facebook profile pages and high school report cards, to confidential e-mails (some lewd) and official conviction reports. Many of the latter had been expunged, or the casefiles had been sealed; it was almost impossible for this to be happening…

Letting go of all attempts to regain order, the Sheriff dedicates his time to rapidly scanning the sea of paper, trying to snatch up anything that might have compromising information about him printer upon it’s surface. Couldn’t have the subordinates learning anything of his, uh, youthful indiscretions. Sure, getting hammered and streaking through a televised sporting event seems like a good idea when you’re young and stupid, but trying to explain the offence to future employers was never fun.

 

He needn’t have bothered.

The screen two feet away, Officer Perkins’ desk, began to broadcast some rather grainy… yet oh-so-familiar footage. Directly across the room, those of Officers Tivon, Nguyen, Johnston, Darvill, Singh, Parks and Garcia lit up ominously; alternating between full-volume repetitions of the footage, and blank monitors filled top to bottom with scrolling text.    
Which he could have  _ sworn _ initially read, “BE SCAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR!”, but after a stutter, they all seemed to read, “BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR!”

No one else seemed to have noticed.   
But the Sheriff had.

Sounded just like the lingo those goddamned monster brats used all the time.    
Unfortunately, he didn’t have any real evidence… but then again, he was the Sheriff; circumstantial, word-of-mouth, witness testimony… they counted if he said so. It was how he’d explained away the little Halloween evidence to the higher ups. They hadn’t been pleased in regards to his actions, but then again, they were all for integration of humans and monsters; politically-correct and overly sensitive, this world was falling to pieces with people like them in charge.

He’d been allowed to continue in his role because no one had actually been hurt. The loud-mouth, little boy blue had escaped unscathed; and the whole thing turned out to be a set-up. Though, the Sheriff still felt deep in his heart that it’d all been a set-up designed to discredit that poor Van Hellscream girl. Wouldn’t surprise him, monsters were like that.

Devious. Dangerous. Determined. 

 

Well, if they thought they were going to get away with this _ attack _ … this  _ utter violation of his working space… _ then those creatures were most assuredly wrong.    
Even though the rage built inside with every loop of the footage, every letter of the taunt as it scrolled past, every page that hit the floor… he held it in; took a deep breath and counted to ten, clenched fists shaking.

Officers to either side took a step away, afraid he would utterly explode without Murphy here to defuse the situation. And were utterly shocked when, after a long moment, the rage-fuelled flush drained from his cheeks, his body language returning to something approaching calm. 

If that’s the way they wanted to play it, then fine.   
He would not march up the long drive to that school one more time, just to expound his profound and authoritative disapproval of the studentry’s actions; no, he would not give them the satisfaction. Instead, this retribution would be subtle.

 

People who flocked in to the annual convention often caused a lot of trouble for the monster community… and normally, as Sheriff, he was legally obligated to go and provide assistance. A role that frequently saw him dispersing drunken groups of supernaturally-obsessed weirdoes, issuing warnings to trespassers and outright arresting a few overly-handsy individuals. Sure, they were a little kooky and maybe put a foot out of line here and there… but there was always something deeply unsettling about having to treat others of _his kind_ this way, in order to defend those _monsters_.

Made his skin crawl something fierce.

It’s not like they didn’t ask for it. The attention, the badgering… heck, half of them were practically wearing flashing signs that they’d like to attract a stalker or ten; that whole ‘ _ Be Unique, Be a Monster _ ’ schtick was nothing more than a gimmick to dress like… someone with something to sell, to put it mildly.

Modesty was dead, these days. The Sheriff not too politically-correct to admit that he’d never been one to like tight clothes on today’s young people; sent all the wrong messages, and most of ‘em didn’t even know it. Girls, Boys, those odd ones that refused to pick a damn side and made filling out forms a process ten times longer than it had to be… they all had a nasty shock coming to them, if this generation didn’t clean up their act; and their attire.    
_His_ generation couldn’t always be around to hold their hands, kiss their boo-boos and clean up the fine messes they make. No… there was a storm coming, especially for those  monster brats. 

There were whispers that someone who knew how to take care of problems, had returned to New Salem. He didn’t know too much, only that something big might be in the works; and the town was going to have their… infestation… dealt with. 

 

Standing amidst the chaos of the department, with floor coated with personal information on a myriad of off-white pages and his childish misdemeanours blaring upon the vast majority of the screens; a dark smile crept across his face. Somehow far worse than any outward display of anger he could possibly have made. 

 

Well, let’s see how they coped without the trusty New Salem Police Department to bail them out of trouble when those unfortunate outfits of theirs ran the girls and boys of Monster High right on into it. Let them discover how hard the real world was, when your actions have consequences. 

“Let them suffer.” he hisses under his moustache, the sound drowned under the chaotic cacophony surrounding him. Those abominations and their headless leader would learn to respect the Sheriff, the hard way.

 

-)0(-

 

Maniacal laughter filled the air.   
  


Offset by a rapid, rhythmic,  _ tik-tik-tik-takka-tik _ of fast-flying fingers pounding into plastic keyboards with fervent purpose. Filling the air with a cacophony of malicious mirth and chaotic intensity, the likes of which were usually only seen within the Mad Science labs during finals week, when all experiment demonstrations were due. 

 

The door to the barely-illuminated room slams open with great force, making both occupants jump in their seats; hands momentarily wrested away from their technological tasks as surprise registered across their faces. One quickly slams a hand onto a button upon the wall, it seemed to have been cobble together recently, wires snaking up and down, left and right to all the computers, monitors and other items in the vicinity.

In a split-second, the myriad of screens went entirely dark of information; as first Jackson, and then Ghoulia, turned to face the intruder. Well, intruders _plural_ ; apparently.   
Though his eyes were concealed by sunglasses, which was certainly at ill-advantage in such darkened conditions, both boo and ghoul could tell Deuce Gorgon was frowning in at them. 

There was silence.   
  
Jackson didn’t breathe.    
Ghoulia didn’t not-breathe.   
They were practically statues.    
  
The gorgon checked his visor was still in place, just in case; unnerved.

  
  
Deuce inclined his head slightly to, first one direction, and then the other. Taking in this previously unknown room, and making a series of educated guesses as to the purpose of most of the technology in it. He was fairly certain neither of them were secretly superheroes, but… he was starting to reconsider that viewpoint, based on the visual evidence.

Everything was entirely still, except for the occasional flicker of static across a monitor before going dark again. He jolts forwards a step as Cleo careens into his back at great speed, calling out for Ghoulia and Deuce; with practiced ease, the gorgon steadies her.  Deuce can pretty much tell something had her freaked out by the way Cleo immediately grabbed ahold of his arm, like she was reassuring herself he was real; even though the room was dark and difficult to discern facial features in. 

The Casketball Co-Captain was fairly certain she was about two seconds away from running her hands over his face; so he patted the scream queen’s hand gently, and attempted to pry it off his bicep. “Hey,” he smiled disarmingly, “what’s got you in a rush, babe?”

As if regaining herself, Cleo took a deep, unnecessary breath, and straightened.    
“Hm, nothing… nothing, I just couldn’t find you, or Ghoulia, and we’re supposed to be evacuating.” her tone betrayed knowledge of something more to do with this whole screamnario. She brushed at invisible dirt on her outfit, not looking his way.

 

Deuce frowns, “O...kay? Well, good news is that I totally found Ghoulia, and as an added bonus, Jackson and Holt too! Which means that once they explain what the hex is going on in here, we can go straight outside to the emergency evac site… without having to stop so I can look for them.”    
At her frown he added, “Last time we had an evacuation drill, Holt missed the siren ‘cause his headphones were up too high… and the one before that, _certain people_ ignored it to keep playing a game on their iCoffin. Easier to just go look for them than panic the Creatures, really.” 

The gorgon shrugs in a way that communicates, ‘ _ They’re my beast fiends, what’re you gonna do? _ ’ without words.

Cleo turns curious eyes on the room; they narrow almost immediately.   
“Ghoulia… Jackson… what,  _ exactly _ , are you doing in here?”

 

The zombie ghoul makes a noncommittal noise, waving her free hand vaguely; the other firmly pressed against the odd button on the wall. Jackson looks at a patch of darkness over the Princess’s shoulder, pretending not to have heard a thing.

They stare at one another, seconds trickling away like sand through an hourglass.    
Cleo breaks the silence first. “Fine, don’t tell us… we’re only your _beast fiends_ after all. Clearly, that doesn’t mean anything to you tw-... _three_. Come on Deuce, they don’t trust us…”

 

Satellites orbiting  _ Pluto _ could have discerned Ghoulia’s exasperated rolling of her eyes.   
She removed her hand from the button, and almost instantaneously, everything in the room whirred back to unlife; screens flickering on, and something in the background humming loudly. Multiple monitors full of static stablised to reveal various programs at play; one computer seemed to be automatically running some sort of code in a loop, another was speeding through data and deleting specific things. A third was scrolling the same sentence over… and over… and over again.

The monitor directly before Ghoulia was full of half-written code in one window, and several tabs of something else the newcomers to the stitchuation could not make out. Likewise, Jackson’s main computer screen had dozens of files open, and a small series of windows that kept popping open every few seconds to confirm something.

 

Things actually made less sense now than they did before.

“Um,” Deuce started, but found himself not entirely able to complete the sentence, just staring at the ridiculous amount of technological processes going on about them. Cleo seemed to share this view.

Although, when she finally composed her thoughts enough to articulate them, all that came out was a surprised, “You have your own generator?”   
  
Ghoulia nodded delightedly, steepling her fingers as she explained in her native tongue, “< _ Why yes, dearest Cleo. For some time I had been quite concerned that, should there be a power outage whilst I was mid-experiment, I would have no recourse with which to protect my works. Therefore, Jackson, Robecca and myself cobbled together the aforementioned generator in a shared free period... it is activated immediately in the event of a loss of power to the school grid _ .>”

 

“Okay, but that clawesome contraption aside… what are you doing in here, babe?” Deuce asks, clearly staring at the mystery button through which all technology in the room had been hastily re-wired for some unknown purpose. Ghoulia looks at Jackson, who blinks back into the stitchuation-at-appendage, frowning like he’d missed something.

“ _ Was he talking to you, or me? _ ” he stage whispers across at the zombie ghoul genius.   
She responds with a general gesture that gave the impression it could have been either of them… expression rippling as it fought down a smile.

 

“Well, if you -plural or singular, bro- prefer to be called  _ babe _ over  _ dude _ … I’m cool with that,” Deuce says in a tone that displays warring sincerity and mischief. Pausing as the normie-looking monster appeared to consider it, because the gorgon would run with whatever was decided; he was chill like that, whatever made his fiends happy, made him happy. 

“...no, I think it might extinguish Heath, or give Manny a heart-attack if he heard you call us babe; we’re fine with whatever you call us, though.” Jackson shrugs, not-so-subtly depressing a few keys on the keyboard directly before him. The screen fell to a generic star-filled screen-saver; as did those around him. 

 

Cleo, on the other appendage, stamped her foot to gain the attention of those in the room.   
“Deuce, darling? They’re deliberately leading you off topic so they can hide whatever it is they’re doing... “ she waves a hand at Ghoulia’s now semi-blank monitors, as they filled with pixelated raincloud screen-savers. “I think they need to just spit it out already, we have to get out of here!”

There was the edge of panic to her voice again, quickly hidden.

 

Ghoulia looked to Jackson.   
Jackson looked to Ghoulia.

She made a, ‘You do it!’ motion towards Cleo and Deuce.   
He made a, ‘Why not you?’ expression right on back.   
There was then a rather complicated gesture from Ghoulia that seemed to indicate she had something on the Jekyll-Hyde and would be only too pleased to share it if they didn’t pony up and tell the other two. With a huff, Jackson complied.

 

“Remember earlier when we were outside Bloodgood’s office and the… the Sheriff came flying out, slamming into Ghoulia?” he asks, watching Deuce nod in remembrance and Cleo’s eyes alight with a fire that said she’d curse the man for daring to touch Ghoulia.   
“Well, after Bloodgood sent you to find Spectra and the others… she said, and I quote, ‘ _ do destroy that little man’s evidence, won’t you? _ ’ and left us to it. So… we did one better.”

Cleo narrows her eyes, this was exactly the sort of conflict they’d been trying to avoid since… well, Halloween. “And is this ‘better’ of yours likely to get either of you arrested, or... worse?”

Ghoulia actually laughs at that. “< _ Oh I do believe the Sheriff would Trick-or-Treat us for this, if he ever managed to find out who had caused such a systematic annihilation of his department. However, we are not imbeciles, and implemented multiple safeguards to prevent identification. The least of which is the visible shutdown-switch, right there upon the wall. _ >”

 

“But… what did you DO?” Deuce asked, exasperated. Could one answer come out in five words or less? They really had to get out of the school before a Creature came along and dragged them outside, in full view of the entire student dead-body. 

 

“ _ <Oh, this and that, my good Deuce. Would you believe it is surprisingly easy to locate infearmation regarding certain police officers’ rather unfortunate histories of supposedly-expunged misdemeanours? Or how quickly one can find video evidence of it, amenable to being looped without end? No?> _ ” she grinned in a way that would make even Clawdeen Wolf think twice about crossing the ghoul genius. 

“ _ <Well, the possibilities are endless once you understand where to look, and what it is you are searching for.> _ ” Ghoulia assured. “ _ <Before you ask, indeed these actions were meted out in a form of personal, cumulative revenge… however, it is imperative to comprehend that they also had a diversionary role to play in this screamnario.> _ ”

Jackson jumped in. “While certain things were activated to keep the New Salem Police Department in a state of chaos, we used an advanced data-sifting program we made last term for our  _ Infernal Technology  _ final, to go through their theoretically-hacked databases.  Anything and everything pertaining to students of Monster High, has been deleted or corrupted to the point of no recovery. Theoretically, Halloween never happened, Porter has never been within ten feet of the convention-going paranormal investigation teams stalking the town, and Draculaura’s accidental speeding ticket was a clerical error so her fees have been automatically refunded.”

 

The tiny pink ghoul had made the mistake of knocking over her bag while driving to school a few weeks after Halloween; fearing the escaping lipstick would get caught under a pedal and put them all in danger, she ducked down to grab it. In the process, managing to accelerate slightly too fast for the speed limit, past the one donut store that the monster-hating Sheriff happened to be stopped in at.   
She’d been very distressed by the whole stitchuation; which had only escalated as all attempts to take mugshots - _ something absolutely unnecessary under paranormal speeding-ticket infractions  _ -failed miserably and he threatened further charges for non-compliance.   Only the arrival of Dracula himself made the Sheriff back down; though he still demanded payment of the fine before she could be released, and marked her record permanently.    
Draculaura had been too emotionally distressed to drive, since; and relied on the family limoscream to get to and from locations.

This should give her some confidence back, hopefully; she cannot feel penalised for something that ‘never happened’, after all. And clerical errors went to head office, showing the Sheriff’s incompetence. A win/win stitchuation, for once!

 

Both of the pair in the doorway seemed to want to say something.   
Maybe congratulations at a prank-and-delete mission gone well (unlikely); or perhaps a lecture on not being idiots and poking the sleeping dragon (more likely). Though nothing managed to emerge before a new voice entered the scene…

 

“Oh, you’re still inside?” came the startled voice of Kiyomi, from behind Monster High’s It-Couple. They turned to face the Noppera-bo, far enough apart that she could see the reason for their stalling. “Hello, I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced yet, but could I ask you both to please follow me outside? The Headmistress and Creatures have sent the ghosts back inside to guide those trapped within.”

Though featureless, her face was somehow open and earnest; endearingly charming, even.   
Ghoulia and Jackson were only too happy to comply; which frustrated Cleo and Deuce rather significantly, given how hard they had had to work to even gain answers out of those who professed to be their closest fiends.

 

“Kiyomi Haunterly, meet our resident nerdy genii… Ghoulia Yelps, and Jackson Jekyll -you remember Holt, right? Well that’s his twin. Great, introductions have been made, now can we please get out of here?” Cleo’s tone aimed for bored, haughty arrogance… but just came off scared. Kiyomi’s comforting hand to her shoulder told Deuce that the ghost was privy to far more infearmation about whatever was bothering his ghoulfiend, than he did. It was not a comforting feeling.

Not that he wanted to be the stereotypical knight-in-shining-armour, because they both knew that if it came to it… Cleo could climb a tall tower in nine-inch heels and fight a dragon without smudging her make-up to save him… but it was a tad distressing she felt she couldn’t tell him what it was. She was still getting used to allowing herself to feel vulnerability around those she trusted most; after years of dealing with Nefera’s perpetual mind games.

 

He goes for a not-so-casual arm about her shoulders and smiles at the Noppera-bo, “Lead the way, babe.”

She nods in response. “Stay close to me. I will try to find a safe path through the glass shards littering the halls, so you do not injure yourselves.”    
With that, she turns in mid-air and begins to slowly hover down the hallway; pausing every few feet to check that the four teenaged monsters were flanking her. 

Not a word more was said about the potential ramifications of what the prank upon the New Salem Police Department might incur. But it hung between those who knew, like a constricting bundle of detention chains.

 

-)0(-

 

Monsters milled in all directions, making taking a clear shot incredibly difficult… but they were professionals. This was what they did for a day (and more often  _ night _ ) job.    
They’d have to change their names if they couldn’t pull off such a simple assignment without messing it up; or risk being laughed right out of the family. Not unlike that idiot girl, Lillith. 

Just thinking about her made the Hunter in the bushes -a _ cousin who’d once been close when their shared future had been bathed in the blood, icor and glory of monster-hunting _ \- want to bend solid steel with her bare hands. To throw away a legacy like that… it just wasn’t DONE.

The man with her, -some obscure uncle who usually operated out of Great Biteon, tapped her arm twice and then tweaked his nose. He raised he object high, semi-long metallic length only just peeking out through the foliage to get a good view; it whirred as he automatically-focused the lens on one of their given targets.

Certainly, they could take as many shots as they wanted, but only one grade of students had truly given their family any grief; they were the primary objective of today’s mission. Today’s objective was simple: obtain photographic evidence of selected students. Preferably, capture them from every possible angle, and return home without being detected.

Easy enough… they’d thought to wait in a secluded area near the carpark; as the vast majority of the identified trouble-makers had their permits at current. It would have been easy to take photos as they trickled out at lunchtime, or as part of the end-of-day mass exodus. However, an acceleration in the schedules had created a minor issue.

Students chaotically moved here and there amongst a large clump of the others; directed this way and that by increasingly-annoyed Creatching staff attempting to regain control of mildly panicked students. The vast majority of whom were occupied in their attempts to locate family and fiends from amongst the crowd. Some succeeding, and others not; before they were forced to congregate within fear-level groupings to aid in the identification of any missing monsters.

From their (now disad-)vantage point, the hunters were only able to take a few snaps of quickly moving targets, and general crowd shots. Many of which came out, rather  unfortunately, blurred beyond recognition; fingers depressing the camera button at the barest glimpse of identified monsters-of-interest. 

 

If only the creatures could just stay still for a moment!

 

She curses angrily under her breath, fists clenched so tightly the heavily-scarred knuckles are white and livid against deep olive skin. Distractedly, the other member of the reconnaissance mission inclined his head minutely to look at her; seeing the frustration written across her face,  he put a paternal hand on her shoulder and shook his head. This was not worth getting so aggravated over, it would be alright.

Breathing heavily for a long moment, she was able to regain control; and felt all the fool for her silent outburst. As a Van Hellscream, such a scenario was simply unacceptable. One of the first things they were ever taught when they came of age to learn the familial trade, was that patience was just as imperative to the success of a mission, as research and perseverance. 

And here she was, getting irrationally angry over a few monster children failing to stand still more than a fleeting moment; though they were not aware that either of the Hunters waited within the bushes to capture their images. It was laughable, really… but she held it in. 

The man, a supposed Uncle whose name she really must get if they were to function as an effective team in future, gazed assessingly at her for a long minute… before nodding in approval and turning back to their targets. Adjusting the camera in his hands to track a tall blue female, with what seemed to be a halo of snowflakes following her every movement.

She looked down to the list of vague descriptions and names pulled, covertly, from school records; and really, Monster High should probably have a stronger firewall on their records, considering they held the names, addresses, powers and limitations of current students in them. Anyone could hack into it and, say, create entire dossiers on the educational institution’s attendees, if they so chose. 

 

Someone like the more technologically-minded members of certain Hunting Clans; seeking clarification on any potential targets and hazards likely to pose a threat to the existing operation being implemented as they spoke. Eyewitness testimony of those who attended the impromptu Halloween festivities of the previous year gave unintended intelligence on whom the Hunters had to keep an eye upon; which of the accumulated teenagers could be most likely to organise resistance if they scented foul play in the air. 

Which, circuitously, led to her kneeling in the dirt. Staring through dense, leafy foliage, right at the main entrance of Monster High; theoretically also providing the perfect vantage point by which to observe the front lawns and student parking lots, without being on the grounds themselves. Occasional cars would ruin a shot by speeding through as the camera was instructed to take a photograph, but that was how it must be; none should ever suspect that they were ever here, until it was too late.

A small list of names and descriptions were available upon the burn-phone they’d been given; and the diversity of students before them made it easy to find who each one referred to. By the Lord above, half of their names were puns of their monster-types, it wasn’t exactly difficult to guess!

 

Still, personal gripes regarding being given such a trifling task aside, theirs was actually an imperative information-gathering mission. As was drilled into them from their earliest memories… it was impossible to effectively infiltrate and dispatch an enemy whose face you did not know. 

Know thy Target.    
Prepare or Fail.    
Those were the platitudes Van Hellscreams grew up with ringing in their ears; soaking into their subconscious… and it stuck. Today, especially.   
This mission was to provide valuable visual intel on the main potential targets. What they looked like currently, their approximate height, any particular style of clothing or attire that may be difficult to overcome under battle conditions; generalised things that seemed paltry on paper, but could mean the difference between failure and success when in the midst of an engagement.

 

‘This is important.’ she tells herself. ‘You were hand-picked for this mission, you are trusted to complete it. Now take up your camera and do not disgrace your family name by coming home empty-handed. There are enough disgraced Van Hellscreams already.’   
Somehow, it works. Her hands are steady as she focuses the camera once more, glaring through the viewport to track different coloured teenagers of all heights and shapes, as they shuffled awkwardly in fear-level groups awaiting news.

There! One of the names on their list is crossed off, a male of average height with hair of flame who stands nearest the… she must be a yeti, based on her features and attire. With another photograph, two names are down, and she begins to get excited.

Beside her, face impassive, her… Uncle, she supposes, takes shots at almost-rhythmic intervals. Appearing to fare better at locating those they had been dispatched to profile, photographically. With a mild huff of annoyance at being shown up by someone over twice her age, the young woman practically glares through the camera at the open doors of the school… and is rewarded by the sudden appearance of five students; or maybe six, depending on your viewpoint regarding split personalities.   
Four (or five), of which she knew to be on the list from visual confirmation alone; leaving one unknown, that she took several shots of anyway, but for vastly different reasons than the former.

Yes, there were plans in place for that student… and those like her.   
A cold thrill tingled down her spine at the very idea of what was coming; what they were going to do, and how the world would thank them upon it’s completion. She smiled viciously to herself, and continued taking wild snaps of as many as could fit in frame; only ceasing when the students were dismissed to private vehicles or awaiting buses, called in early due to a rather  _ unfortunate _ crisis.

As soon as the last of the students were safely away, and overseeing Fa-Cruelty members had retreated inside to deal with the mess; did the pair begin to dismantle their operation. Cameras being quickly switched off and stowed in rather-repugnant looking backpacks, clothing being readjusted; and the burn-phone used one last time before destruction, to send ‘ _ Theta Team Successful’  _ to an unlisted number, before it (and especially the sim card) were then smashed to pieces with a nearby rock. 

 

With practiced ease the pair slid from the bushes, as casually as if it was utterly normal for someone to do so, and strolled to the footpath. Had someone driven past, or a Creature looked out a window, they would have seen nothing more than a pair of convention-attendees striding down the opposite side of the road idly. 

If you had asked them, it was the garish Hauntwaiian shirts that really sold it.   
But no one did. 

Why? Because sometimes standing out, being too obvious amongst a sea of otherwise conspicuous persons, often made you invisible. Like an elite team of Hunters attending a convention full of supernatural-seekers who could not see a ghost if one danced naked in front of them; in the pursuit of ending their very objects of fascination and fear.

 

It was time for a cleansing more thorough than anything sage and salt randomly sprinkled through an abode could ever accomplish. 

Actually, if things went to completion as planned, then the entire reason she had been sent on this mission… would be rendered utterly useless. For what use was the ability to perceive certain incorporeal beings… if they no longer existed in this world?

 

She laughed aloud at the beautiful irony of it all.

And finally… vengeance would be had against… HER.   
Whether she remembered her crimes, or not, the Hunter would make the monster pay for the blood pooling on those translucent hands.

Someone had to.


	6. Too Impatient to Wraith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More is revealed.
> 
> Sorry for the update spam.

Lillith felt sick to the pit of her stomach.

Something had happened this day, and she had no idea what it was or how it pertained to the continued imperilment of the monsters she consorted with in recent times. All that the human knew, was that something terrible was in progress; and it was tied to that damn convention.

Every hour, though they seemed to think themselves subtle, a mass of people would enter through the back gate; their manservant, Clive, letting them in with a veritable waterfall of pleasantries and salutations that echoed to her, wherever she hid. Sometimes they spoke back, but mostly, they grunted or shuffled until he suggested going into the Drawing Room.

Large, library-like and currently off-limits to Lillith; the Drawing Room remained the sole meeting place of these other people. Sometimes she caught snatches of what sounded like familiar voices and accents through the thick doors, but mostly not; though the wood hummed with the multitude of voices and sounds being contained within.

At times, there were only a handful of people, including her parents and that familiar man from the night previous; tell-tale typing sounds and the rapid clicking of mice giving rise to the idea that perhaps something technological had been set up within. Though for what purpose, she was unsure. 

However, many times, larger groups seemed to congregate within.   
Perhaps twenty or so people, she could never make a genuinely accurate guesstimate; primarily due to the limitations surrounding her inability to lay eyes on the visitors, or gain any useful insight through listening near the door. Getting too close often meant the room fell silent, and a servant would be dispatched to force her away as best they could.

Clearly, there was some manner of surveillance in place that she had yet to locate and dismantle. It was bothersome.

 

Though, what truly had her on edge was the response received from Cleo, or ‘ _ Ra’sChosenOne _ ’, if they were going by codenames now. Lillith had taken to carrying the iCoffin on her person in clever concealment at all times… it was therefore less likely that someone snooping through her room would find it that way… and as such had been first to know of the response.

.

_ Time: 12:46am _ _   
_ _ To: DesignerDiva _

_   
_ _ Have made HHBloodgood aware of the stichuation. _ _   
_ _ She thanks you, and advises to keep safe; don’t put yourself in danger on our account.  _ _   
_ __ Oh, and please don’t discuss this infearmation with anyone but myself, HHB or Spectra and her fiends; it might cause a panic. Which is to be avodied.

_ Hope you are okay, and will see Saturday @8am. _

_ -Ra’sChosenOne _

.

Despite the modicum of hope it planted in her, knowing that the highest authority of the school had been alerted, and that Cleo remained optimistic about still being unalive come Saturday… the reality of it all was stressing the former-hunter out something awful.    
Anything could go wrong between the _ Now _ they were experiencing at current, and the seemingly far-off  _ Then _ of the coming Saturday. 

Her family was plotting something with a series of other hunters; an assortment of those who bore the name and legacy, and those from lesser Hunting families, though no less effective in their techniques. To have so many gathered meant that something was happening here, something less overt than a simple plan to destroy any inhabitants of New Salem that could not claim to be entirely human. 

It felt… it felt like there was an edge of malice to these proceedings that was not usually present; as if this was a personal score to settle. Lillith could not lay claim to the exact moment this idea pervaded her mind, nor why it seemed so persistent amongst her overstressed thought-processes. Merely possessing the knowledge that, at some point it had arrived without warning; twisting itself, with ease, into the mess of concerns and observations her mind held about this scenario. As if it was always meant to be there amongst the discordant threads of investigative thoughts pertaining to their unofficial house-guests and the peril they posed.

 

The message… helped and hurt her impending mental breakdown.   
Not passing this information to other monsters was easily enough done, many still refused to talk to her after… well,  _ after _ ; and she did not want to panic the few that were completely at ease interacting with someone of her pedigree. The Van Hellscream did not doubt they would take her seriously, but more feared that they would; and demand to know why she was not doing more to aid them.

Which was silly. None of the familiar faces that her memory conjured up under the ‘fiends’ column would ever think to react in such a manner; for they understood there was a rather delicate balance at play in the large, ornate mansion. One which teetered precariously everytime she spoke to one of them, or refused to listen to family members’ arguments about honouring lineage and returning to the hunting side of their shared heritage.

 

And it was also the inability to provide any useful information to them that was causing her to feel rather helpless; if she could just get a definitive piece of evidence, or even a fragment of a clue to state where they would strike, or what they intended… it would be so beneficial to the perpetually-persecuted monsters of Monster High. But nothing was forthcoming, except for the numbers of-...

 

And with that thought, the back door slammed open with great force.

“Theta Team reporting in!” came a voice that made the colour drain from Lillith’s face. Though the name was lurking somewhere under panic-induced mental fog, she knew the owner of the vocalisation as intricately as the back of her own hand. A cousin, one close enough to once bear the pseudo-designation of Sister. 

If she was here… things were clearly a lot more dangerous than previously believed.

 

Though Cleo’s message, and the ghoul herself, would prefer she remain as far away from precarious situations as possible; Lillith could not help but feel compelled to unravel this for the sake of her newest fiends. If her cousin was here, then… then… why was the memory so elusive?

Something about… a loss. 

An attack.

She wracked her mind trying to think of it.   
Something a few years before, not within the borders of the Boonited Stakes of Amscareica; but another country, across the sea. Perhaps Great Biteon? 

It was something to do with a spectre, maybe a poltergeist? The specifics were fuzzy, it had not affected her as it had many of the other hunting families; and therefore was not of concern to the tweenaged Lillith at the time. Though there was definitely a loss, a mission gone wrong.

And definitely a ghost.

 

Hunters liked to set up semi-permanent bases in places where the Ghost and Human Worlds intersected; where the veil had rubbed thin enough for something to slip right on through. Waiting to spring into action… for some reason, her mind kept omitting the ‘if necessary’ from the end of that thought; like it was no longer relevant. Almost as if… no longer mattered whether the ghost was hostile or not; and certainly, there had been hunters of that caliber as long as there had been monsters. 

Though certainly not recently.   
All actions taken by Hunters must be within certain legislative parameters; wrong-doing or intent to commit an act that can be seen as harmful, was required to have been proven prior to (or immediately after, in the case of emergency) action against a monster. And, though there were several places in Amscareica where monsterphobic communities had lifted or outright ignored these laws; Hunter clans were advised by international ethics committees to abide by all existing legislature, or face legal prosecution for impinging on the rights of non-human citizens. 

 

However… a story drifted wearily from the back of her mind, a memory maybe; her family, and some others had done something. It had gone wrong. An initiation hunt, maybe?   
All that came to mind was that only a single survivor had clawed his way out of it; and many of the Hunter clans, the Van Hellscreams included, were still determined to destroy the perpetrator of this act.

 

A ruckus below made her peer over the edge of the railing briefly. An older man, perhaps middle-aged and so vaguely familiar as to be almost a stranger, was shushing her cousin; whose bushy black hair appeared to have a series of small leaves stuck within its thick curls. Lillith had to bite back a laugh or give away her position, ducking down anyway as the man gave the universal gesture for ‘Silence’ and then jerked an angry thumb upwards; possibly to indicate Lillith herself.

Confirmed a moment later when her cousin, what-was-her-name, snorted in derision. “Oh, who cares if she finds out? What’s the monster-fucker going to do if she finds out, warn them?”

 

Her cheeks flushed crimson at the harsh words; in the Van Hellscream family, to be referred to as someone who would have congress with a monster… was akin to calling Hermione Granger, a mudblood. It was meant as a slap in the face; and even if knowing the monsters themselves, losing her prejudices, had taken the insult from it… the insult intended behind the words was what sent sharp pangs of hurt deep into her chest.

Besides, there was absolutely nothing to the words… unless her cousin had somehow obtained covert footage of a singular almost-incident several months previously. An incident where, perhaps, she and Cleo were really rather intoxicated on various high-end liquors in an attempt to drown their collective guilt over their roles in the unfortunate holiday incident; and perhaps some future monster-human relations had been tentatively explored for maybe five minutes, before they fell asleep. Lillith had been rather reluctant to talk about it afterwards, though nothing really happened; until her new fiend Cleo had laughingly told her it was quite alright, these things happened.

 

Still, the old insult sent a trill of fear zinging through the teenager. Her mind now over-analysing everything she’d seen, done and said from that incident to present day.

 

“If you are quite done shouting, sir and madam, might I please escort you to the Drawing Room?” Cuts in the voice of Clive, his manners dripping with sarcasm; as was his way when guests were rude, destructive or disrespectful towards property or personnage.    
Such as if they, say, entered without knocking in the loudest and most disruptive manner possible… and then had the sheer audacity to start loudly criticising a member of the host household.

 

Lillith slipped away while the new arrivals were distracted and unlikely to hear the slight creak her door made when opened more than a few inches. Mind whirring still, and coming back to something little she had not realised was bugging her… Cleo’s message.

One of the words had been misspelled. 

On its own, innocuous enough. People sometimes got things wrong when typing words on hyper-sensitive touchscreens… but when it came to Cleo, sending an iCoffin message was not just a convenient way to exchange information; it was an art form. Lillith had observed the Princess revising, rewriting and editing a text to perfection on more than one occasion; be it a short message, or school-wide notification. 

Which made an obvious spelling mistake all the more concerning an occurrence; and a rather grim indication of the ghoul’s mental state at this moment. Just as, if not more so, stressed as Lillith, herself.

 

Painfully slowly, the former-hunter slid the door shut and latched it.    
No one would come up, even if she missed dinner; it was Annoria’s day off, and her parents didn’t care to trouble themselves with their rebellious only-child, especially not when they had guests to entertain. She took two large strides and flopped onto the surface of the bed; spread out atop the crumpled sheets from the interrupted rest of the night before, and oddly, entirely at peace for a few seconds.

Right up until the memory of the message came back, forcing her to snatch out the iCoffin and dare to send a response, despite the risk of being caught.

 

.

_ Time: 13:32 _ _   
_ _ To: Ra’sChosenOne _

_ I will keep this con-fear-dential (did I do it right?), and between us; as you wish.  _ _   
_ _ Hunters keep arriving, in daylight now, including a cousin of mine I know to have a vendetta against the more incorporeal members of the monster world. Please inform your Headmistress I appreciate the concern, but will continue to try and aid by gathering as much in(fear?)mation as possible.  _

_ Definitely something to do with the convention, please stay away for your own safety. _

_ Not to be too forward with this last question but, based on your last message I must ask… are you… alright, Ra’sChosenOne? _

_ -DesignerDiva _

.

 

Her right foot jiggled as she sent the message, a release for the nervous energy building within the young Van Hellscream’s body as she lay upon the bed, wondering as to how it would be received. Questioning whether the spelling error had even been there, if using what she had approximated as monster-slanguage was somehow offensive, and whether or not the polite message had really been a pointed statement telling the human to leave well alone.

Thoughts twisted about as such, Lillith nearly catapulted off the luxurious surface as the iCoffin buzzed in her hand; set on vibrate so only she would know if someone had attempted contact. Only a mere two minutes had slipped past while she was in her anxiety-riddled reverie.

With minute hesitation, she opened the awaiting text message.

 

_. _

_ Time: 13:35 _ _   
_ _ To: DesignerDiva _ __   
  


_ No.  _

_ I am not okay, but who would be under such circumstances? _ _   
_ _ Let us not speak of it any longer and maybe we will forget about it. _

 

_ Yes, you did get infearmation right, however con-fear-dential can also be con-fin-dential or con-fur-dential, depending on who is using it. I will endeavour to teach you more at a later date.  _ __   
  


_ And Lillith… _

_ Whatever you do, ...do be scareful.  _ _   
_ _ Not to slander your family, DesignerDiva, but I do not trust their motivations nor their ideals.  _ _   
_ __ If you are ever threatened or placed in danger in anyway, do inform them I have been practicing my curses and will lay a rather gruesome one upon whomsoever dares touch my fiends. And while they are reeling from that clearly terrifying threat, you would do wisely to take the time it gives you to come to my Fear-a-mid as fast as you are able. The guards will always let you in.

 

_ Promise me you will do this, DesignerDiva? _

 

_ -Ra’sChosenOne _

.

 

Lillith reads the message again, and again; feeling a warm buzz inside at the idea someone cared enough to threaten such a thing. It was a nice change, honestly.    
And she hoped that Cleo understood that it was a two-way street they ambled down; Lillith was not above kicking down a door and shooting someone in the face to save a fiend. 

Deftly, she types out a response; smiling as she hit send.

 

.

_ Time: 13:45 _ _   
_ _ To: Ra’sChosenOne _

 

_ PROMISE. _

 

_ -DesignerDiva _

.

 

-)0(- 

 

“You simply cannot go out again!” Spectra states, whirling about to face him when they are alone in the on-grounds accommodation provided for the use of both transitional, international and long-stay students. The other ghosts had given them some privacy, seeing her significant distress; even the werekats had vacated with only the briefest glance at the thunderous expression.

Porter opens his mouth to reply, but the utter fire behind the deep purple glare sees his jaw snap shut of its own accord. 

Her finger is suddenly in his face, expression one that demanded his full attention.    
“Seriously Porter, you cannot sneak out tonight to paint, or prank the normies… not after this.” Spectra’s rage fades as her voice fades to a whisper, “What if something happens to you? They might consider what you are doing to be a form of Haunting… and then you’ll be punished, trapped in the Ghost World for all eternity, like the Red Lady was. Or worse.”

 

The Paintergeist fumbles for a suave, reassuring response to that statement, and finds nothing but the half-formed idea to provide comfort. Slowly, he moves to place an arm over her shoulder; feeling the tremble through her beautiful, translucent, lily-pale skin, and suddenly feeling like an idiot for not realising the anger was a front. 

Of corpse his ghoulfiend was upset over his actions, whose partner wouldn’t have been to hear the one they loved had willing courted danger, just for the sake of a bit of fun?    
Well, alright, his actions were also semi-noble in terms of the altruistic intent behind them; give the so-called investigators a bit of a story to tell, even if they were blind to him practically doing the macarena before their eyes.

 

A sob dragged him back to the present. 

Oh. Right. Distressed Ghoulfiend… who had heard every word of that de Nile ghoul’s breaking news, and not once seemed to be interested in turning it into a sensational scoop. Indicative of either incredible maturity, or extreme distress; and he wasn’t liking the odds on this one. Whenever Spectra got down, and it was a rare occurrence at that, it was like her entire personality had been tied to an anchor and dropped into the Mariana Trench.    
You had to dive in and give her a hand before she got too deep, or risk watching her spirit crumble until the ghoul could wrest herself free from whatever was plaguing her.

 

“Hey, hey…” he slides into her downcast field of vision and tries to exude nothing but sincerity. “If you don’t want me to go out there tonight, then not even an unlifetime’s supply of ghost paint could get me to leave your side, alright? We’ll just watch a boovie or something, I hear the ‘Gored of the MurdeRing’ trilogy is pretty good, huh?”

 

But instead of responding, Spectra hovers away to sit on the bottom bunk assigned to Vandala; expression suddenly concerningly blank, and eyes lost. Porter was starting to think this wasn’t just about him sneaking out to go paint things in the undead of fright…

He sits beside her. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” he whispers, tone gentle. She looked like a gust of wind could dissipate the ghostly ghoul to the four winds and the poltergeist didn’t want to startle her.

 

Lengthy, is the silence that ensues. Though it is, in it’s own way, comfortable.

Finally, though neither knew how much time had passed in the interim, Spectra spoke in an oddly-hollow voice that sent shivers throughout Porter’s body.   
  


“Did you know no one here trusted me to keep my story straight?” she asked, clearly speaking rhetorically. “Even Headless Headmistress Bloodgood had to personally request my silence regarding this whole mess of an impending hunter-threat-stitchuation, because they couldn’t imagine I’d do it by myself.”

He wasn’t really certain what to interject to make the ghoul feel better, but she carried on regardless.

“But do you know why, Porter? Would it shock you to know that the ghoul you loved has nearly gotten others hurt because of her impatience, her inability to fact-check, her rationality to at least seek a source before posting a fangtastical scoop that may or may not be true?” Spectra clasped her hands together, resting elbows on where her knees must be under the dress. “Because I have. It was only when I met you and the others that I realised how dangerous it could be to report some things without checking to see if they were true or safe to share…”

 

“You’re just passionate,” he attempts to reassure, and gets a glare in response.   
The Paintergeist is confused a long moment before the reality of what is happening hits him like a lightning bolt. That’s not what this is. It’s not a pity-party, she’s not seeking reassurance… she’s telling him something she needs to say… and begging him to hear out this confession. 

He nods, once. 

She understands this to mean that Porter is onboard with this cathartic exercise.

 

“There were many instances, really. I don’t usually lie or make-things-up deliberately… sometimes I just hear a snippet of infearmation and get carried away… I’ve always had an amazing imagination. That’s what my Parents used to sa-...” Her voice falls silent, the air in the room now tinged with a sad ache. “I have done many things, bad things; many I cannot take back. My words have hurt, just as much as they have healed or informed; but I have also lied… to others, and to myself.

You might think it impossible, but you can.    
If you just repeat a story over and over, it sounds real enough. Your mind eventually accepts it to be true, and covers over anything that doesn’t make sense… doesn’t fit the image of what you believe as truth.” 

She heaved a sigh as heavy as all the detention chains in the world, and curled into his side. Porter immediately pulling her close.

“I lied to myself,” she whispered. “Something happened to the me I used to be, and I wanted to forget… so I told myself a story. It was wonderful, it was as grand and adventurous and exciting as one would hope to read in a novel; and nothing bad happened in it. But in the process, it paved over something important. 

Who I was, who I knew and where I unlived… they’re lost to me because of my own white lie. I remember having parents, but not what they looked like, or what happened to them; all that is clear, is that they are not here now, and I miss them without ever feeling it.” 

 

Unsure how to comfort a problem so deeply rooted in the core of someone the way Spectra’s was. Porter settled for wrapping his other arm about the ghoul and holding tight. She instinctively curled inwards, resting her forehead on his chest despite the awkward angle it put the rest of her body in; his chin rested atop the long purple locks that drifted aimlessly about her head. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I’m sorry this has happened to you, but if we can make it right… I’ll do anything. You’re too nice a ghoul to be in this much pain.   
And yes, you may have hurt people in the past, but it wasn’t like you set out to deliberately do that… you just wanted to tell the news. You’re better now, right?” 

 

“I hope so…” Spectra says, looking up with a furrow marring her brow.

 

He kisses it, and it disappears as she laughs in startlement at his actions.

“Corpse you are… and I love you for it!” he beams back, relaxing fully as the gloom of the atmosphere thaws under the insistent pressure of their positivity. “Now… how about you go shower, put on your pjs - _ and of corpse, I’ll do the same _ \- and then we can stuff ourselves full of snackfoods, while watching a boovie or six, until the others get back from wherever they disappeared to?”

 

Spectra rolls her eyes and smiles. “Well, if you insist…”

Which is Ghostly-Gossip for  _ Yes _ .

 

After they showered, _ which yes, was somehow still a necessary and useful process for the generally incorporeal, as long as they used the right settings _ ; the pair avidly raced each other to the Unliving Room for the right to firsts dibs on boovie selection.    
Porter didn’t mind he lost, it meant the world to see her smiling again; even if a dark, cloying feeling of concern started to grow as he contemplated how to help the ghoul regain what she had forgotten. And what would happen when Spectra did.

But, as she slipped a disc into the player and dropped to the somewhat garishly decorated spectral couch beside him, he decided that particular struggle could wait until the end of the boovie.

  
  


-)0(-

 

Draculaura’s fingers danced rhythmically upon the soft, dark leather of the limoscream’s seats as she idly gazed out the window at the myriad of passing streets, cars and shops. Thankfully, the darkly-tinted windows meant the tiny pink vampire was able to do so safely, without risk of some rather killer sunburn.

Small shifting sounds, and the clink of manicured claws on iCoffin screens reminded her that, at least on this particular afternoon, she was not alone. With the impromptu evacuation of the school, something about the electrical systems and all that shattered glass, Draculaura had immediately called her father. In turn, the Prince of Darkness had told her to wait, and he would have the family limoscream sent out to collect her.

Of corpse, he never said she could not extend the offer of a free ride home to several of her fiends who lived close by. She would not be surprised if Dracula had already anticipated such a generous course of action from his daughter, as the chauffeur certainly did not seem all that shocked at her request. Besides, it’s not as if he didn’t know the routes and addresses of all her closest fiends, anyway… her father could be so overprotective about letting her go anywhere, especially when she insisted upon doing it during daylight hours.

Ah well, it came from a place of parental affection; so she often took the extended protection with little complaining. Though the ban on getting a ride from Clawd and Clawdeen until the Wolf siblings had their vehicle’s windows tinted, really wasn’t very fair, and they were still adamantly arguing over it...

 

Piled practically atop one another in the spacious-but-limited backseat was her boofiend Clawd, beast fiend Clawdeen and their youngest sibling, Howleen; they were all preoccupied with responding to the never-ending stream of messages coming through their iCoffins.   
Not all the students had been able to locate each other when they were forced outside during the evacuation drills; but thankfully, that was where the miracle of technology stepped in and filled the gap. 

Draculaura resisted a delighted giggle that bubbled in her throat as Howleen opened a new message and let out an involuntary yip-squeak sound; clearly, one Twyla Boogeyman was being adorable, as always. Ah, one day they’d work it out… but until then, watching the two super-mega-beast-fiends interact was better than any half-baked romantic boovie.

Clawdeen subtly glances down at her younger sister’s icoffin and looks away with a snort of amusement; elbowing a surprised Clawd, so he’d move close enough to have her whisper in his ear. His ghoulfiend lets out a peal of laughter at the stunned expression on his face. Oh… she loved him, alright, but sometimes the Casketball Team Co-Captain managed to miss the obvious. 

Squished against the Wolf trio were Deuce, Cleo, Ghoulia, Jackson and Frankie.    
The electrically-charged ghoul clearly trying to work out why Monster High’s It-Couple was staring down the dorky geniuses; the latter contriving to look as innocently oblivious as possible… and ruining it with periodic giggles of amusement. Something was clearly going on here…

Well, they were not tingling Draculaura’s romantic-radar in a ‘new-couple’ sense, so clearly that was not what was going down here. She narrows her eyes until only the barest hint of deep pink pupil could be seen; just contemplating what it could be. Something big enough to gain the attention, and concern, of their closest fiends; as it seemed both the Gorgon boo and Mummy ghoul’s expression were trapped between exhilaration and admonishment.

 

With a sigh, she realises it was up to her to break the tension.   
“Alright, what is it you two did?” she lilts at Ghoulia and Jackson, who were the furthest from her and therefore utterly taken off-guard when spoken to. “Go on, tell me… you look too smug about something. Was it you two who broke the lights?”

 

Now everyone was looking up and at the pair; who seemed rather offended by the insinuation they’d compromised the electrical integrity of the school’s power grid.    
Clawdeen was squinting at them too, now. “Yeah, come to think of it… why _do_ you look so pleased with yourselves?” 

 

The pair look at each other, seeming to have a discussion though neither were telepathic and made no additional gestures to give insight into what they were saying.

“We didn’t break the electrical system, that was something else.” Jackson eventually says, frowning. “But we can’t tell you what we did, either, because knowing could put you in a compromising position…”

 

“Well, now you have to tell us!” Frankie says, then frowns. “I hope it wasn’t me who caused the power surge, now I think about it. We were so stressed out from finals preparations last week that I forgot to take my portable charger home and plug it into the power-station my parents made. I had to revert to hot-wiring an outlet…”

Ghoulia reaches over to pat her hand, “< _ Allow me to reassure you that it was impossible for even your energy-consumptive requirements to cause the school-wide devastation. Indeed, it was less a drain and more a strong surge that caused the damage. _ >”

 

“Oh, good.” Frankie deflates, relieved that she had not caused this particular calamity. “Just had to be sure… but, if it wasn’t me, then what was it? Does anyone know?”

“< _ Not as far as we are aware. _ >” Ghoulia responds, expression pensive. Something had caused a catastrophic cascade failure throughout the entire building, from attics to catacombs; anything that could do that was highly unlikely to have been random or accidental. Though, one could not rule out that possibility until all information was on the table, and thoroughly examined. “< _ It may have simply been a freak power surge due to a demand overload… is not this day the one wherein freshmen students are allowed to test their reanimation abilities upon their term projects? _ >”

 

“Oh yeah!” Howleen chips in. “Half the class missed out on trying theirs, because the lights went out… which sucked, I could have sworn my project was going to get an A.”

Draculaura quashes an internal ‘Awww’ at the pout the youngest Wolf ghoul was making; she used to make that face when she was… littler, and wanted Draculaura to pick her up for a hug. Although, at this rate, if the Wolf got any taller… she would be the one picking Draculaura up for ‘hugs’.

Clawd pats his sister on the shoulder in commiseration, “I bet you would have gotten it too, you’re really good at Mad Science. Don’t worry, I’m sure the entire class will be given another chance. I mean, Mr Hack is harsh but like, he’s never unfair… if you know what I mean. He wouldn’t fail those who didn’t get to showcase their experiments because of a power outtage…”

 

“ _ But if he did, I’m sure you could get these two to intervene… _ ” Cleo mutters under her breath as she glared at her beast fiend and her accomplice, startling everyone. She’d been surprisingly quiet the entire ride, which was unusual; as was the Princess not immediately demanding that her Mummy… hmm, her Daddy, send the de Nile limoscream for her instead.   
When asked later, Deuce quietly admitted that not only had Nefera used it the night before so it was in an atrocious state; but, primarily… Cleo just kind of wanted to be around her fiends right now. Something was upsetting her, and he didn’t know what just yet.

Clawdeen grins at her sister, “Yeah, see? Even if he flunks you unfairly, you’ve got two of his favourite Mad Science students on your side to go and change his mind… I hear they’ve gotten really good at dodging the knives he flings, recently. You’ve got a huge chance of receiving your A!” 

Howleen frowns, “He doesn’t actually toss weapons at you while negotiating, does he?”

 

The older students look at one another, shrug and decide to reassure instead of instilling the far more concerning reality.

“Nah,” beams Clawd.

Ghoulia visibly shrugs, unconcernedly. 

“Not really. Well, maybe only a few…” Frankie smiles, “if you make a really good point and he can’t think of a good response.”

“Don’t worry about it, furball.” Clawdeen hums, ruffling her sister’s hair in a way that she just knew would send the other’s thoughts towards the sudden devastation of her hairstyle. “It’ll work out. First we need to know what went down with the school… not that I’m looking a gift-Kelpie in the gaping mouth, because the idea of a half-day off school is clawesome… but, I kind of want to know what’s happening.”

 

Cleo was fidgeting nervously against Deuce, so he put his arm about her; trying to make it look like her discomfort was just a casual, non-verbal request for affection. It didn’t deceive Draculaura, because she knew the ghoul; but, she tended to respect another’s privacy, especially when they were clearly distressed over something they did not appear to want to talk about. 

“Oh!” the small ghoul cried out, jolting many inside the vehicle out of their own personal reflections on the stitchuation. “Oh, I just remembered something! That awful little normie Sheriff was here again this morning…  I remember because he kept shoving students out of the way as he left, and I nearly ended up beneath an Iris-Jinafire-Skelita avalanche!”

 

Low-level growling filled the air.

“That jerk thinks he can get away with anything, doesn’t he?” snaps Clawdeen, iCoffin screen groaning as she clenched her fist about it. Frankie immediately leaned over Clawd to pull it out of her hands before it shattered; as it stood, they’d all had enough of glass shards for today, without adding to the calamity. 

“We should really teach him a lesson… then he wouldn’t go messing with any of us monsters again!” Clawd added, slamming a closed fist into his palm to emphasise the severity of his statement. The entire limoscream was filled with an intense energy…

...which was shattered the minute Ghoulia and Jackson started to laugh, rather incongruously with the stitchuation in which they were involved. 

 

Draculaura blinks, and feels the car turn the final curve into the road the Wolf family lived upon. “Wait, when Cleo said ‘intervene’ before, I take it this was not a reference to talking it out…?” she asks, brow furrowed. 

Deuce throws a telling glance at the pair from under his glasses, and gives a knowing smile.    
“You could say that…” he shrugs. “You  could  _ also _ say they have a secret superhero lair on the fourth floor, and tend to use it for the purposes of hacking the departmental records of one New Salem Police Department… and something about a streaking incident?”

All eyes turned to the pair, who were tenuously holding it together.

“Before you ask… no, it wasn’t us… but the Sheriff talks a big game for someone whose naked dash across a televised cricket match, currently has…” Jackson checks the iCoffin he shares with Holt, “nearly fifteen million views on frightube.”

“ _ <A fact of which his colleagues and subordinates are now well aware.> _ ” Ghoulia adds, grinning. “< _ In addition to this chaotic maelstrom of televised nudity becoming public knowledge, we also orchestrated the systematic removal of any and all records pertaining to students of Monster High. _ >”

 

“Officially, Halloween never happened. Whatever Porter did to get the guy so mad, is now erased from the system… and Draculaura, that ticket of yours was erased from memory, and the fine returned. All while the department computers and printers went haywire around them… remind us to show you the surveillance footage sometime.” Finished Jackson, explaining the scream-nario in greater detail, and simultaneously answering Ghoulia’s request for a high-five.

 

“Which was why Mr Rotter had to send us searching the school for you two,” Deuce adds, tone suggesting that maybe the creature had assumed they were doing something other than hacking into governmental databases and psychologically tormenting a bully of an authority figure. “If we hadn’t run into Toralei, who was surprisingly helpful today  in mentioning where they’d seen the pair of you last, we’d never have known which floor to check. Next time, you gotta tell us when you’re sneaking off to the Batcave… it’s hard to find in an emergency.”

 

“ _ <All attempts will be made to notify someone in future, provided emergency circumstances do not require the hasty retreat and useage of the aforementioned facilities.> _ ”Ghoulia reassures, as the car lapses into silence.

It is only then that the tenagers realise the vehicle is no longer moving. Draculaura peers out a window and see the Wolf house, complete with a rather amused Mrs Wolf waiting in the doorway for her children to get out and come inside.

“This is our stop!” Clawdeen says, snatching up her stuff and practically shoving her siblings out before her. “Call you later, Ula D and company. Unless you want to c-...”

She is cut off by the sound of Mrs Wolf shouting, “WOULD YOUR FRIENDS LIKE TO COME IN AND HAVE SOME AFTERNOON TEA?”

  
  


Before any of her children can open their mouths to respond to the lovely offer; Draculaura has the window rolled down and is half-hanging out in the blazing sun, to shout back, “NO THANK YOU, I MUST GET THEM HOME. THANK YOU FOR THE OFFER THOUGH, MRS WOLF, YOUR HAIR IS LOVELY TODAY!”

She was a lovely, patient, protective slaydy. Though, one too many cubs howling into her hyper-sensitive ears at all hours, had slightly deafened the womanster in a way even the rapid healing factor of a born werewolf could not mend. It didn’t bother her overmuch, and everyone who knew the family learned to just speak up, or shout, if over distances; the only downside, if there was one, was that it often mean the womanster would crank up the volume on ancient songs she adored, in order to hear them. While her children slowly undied of shame at the first tell-tale chords of Hellvis Presence-ly lancing through the household.

  
  


The vehicle shudders to unlife once more, pulling away from the residence and continuing down the road as the occupants waved goodbye at the others. Cleo, Deuce and Ghoulia begin to shuffle about, collecting their things as best they could, given their stop was only two streets over.

Silence lapsed throughout the back of the limoscream, as if everything that needed be said, had been. It was comfortable, of corpse; especially now everyone could spread out a little more, and were able to stretch out tight muscles. 

At one point, an incoming message appears to startle Cleo into a frantic bout of texting; and after sending, she held onto the iCoffin with all the intensity of a drowning fire elemental clinging to a piece of debris and praying for rescue. It seemed that whomsoever she was speaking to replied promptly… and with the answer her mummy fiend had been looking for.   
Cleo sagged against Deuce’s side immediately, gaining concerned glances from the manster and everyone else present; but she waved them off, whatever had been done, was done.

 

Draculaura dismissed the stitchuation, and stared out the window, just as aimlessly as before.

A house here, a playground there… average buildings and grandiose littered here and there.   
They passed the Gorgon residence, gleaming and ornate as always; and the cemetery where Ghoulia unlived in a rather decadent mausoleum-themed mansion her Horde had owned for centuries. It was made of hand-crafted stone, so as to be fire-proof. Many other nameless residences flashed past.

Something flashed past her eyes as they passed the latter. It was like looking a picture for only a second, and knowing something was utterly out of place… but she could not quite see what, before they had passed entirely.

Frankie scoots all the way up to her side, and asks, “Hey, are you alright? You looked startled for a second.” 

Draculaura shakes her head, loving the feeling of her tiny bat earrings tap-tap-tapping against her face at the movement. “Oh, it is probably nothing, Frankie. I just thought… I saw something. Though I’m not sure what, it felt like something was wr-... oh! There, again!”

She pointed out the window, at the sidewalk they passed more slowly now; for they approached the de Nile Fear-a-mid. Across a large swathe of cement pathway, and on several walls, were numerous instances of graffiti; completely illegible, but messy and seemingly sequential.

 

“Oh, how rude!” Frankie laments, thinking of the poor monster who would have to scrub it out of existence. “And it doesn’t even mean anything… as if someone just got a new can of pray spaint… wait a minute.”  The ghoul giggled, “I meant  _ spray paint _ ! Someone got a new can of  _ spray paint _ , and decided to test it out on every surface they could find!” 

She pauses, clearly realising her tone seemed far too cheerful for the subject matter. 

 

Draculaura pats her shoulder to let Frankie know that she has understood what was meant.    
“Yes, it is quite rude, is it not? But… I cannot help feeling like there is a pattern amongst the messy chaos. See, by the mailbox ahead? It almost looks like they make a ring of squiggles… or perhaps they are symbols and the person happened to have terrible handwriting?”

 

“ _ <You are correct, Ula D, there do appear to be a series of symbol-laden patterns laid outside.> _ ” Ghoulia confirms, leaning over Jackson, Deuce and Cleo to gain a better look out the window opposite her seat. 

 

“Ugh, it’s probably one of those odd little normies from the convention trying to summon a djinn or a demon or something, again.” Cleo groans, deigning to stare out the window. “Last year they managed to drag some poor afrit here from right in the middle of a family howliday at GrisleyLand. To be entirely fair, I too, would have set them on fire for such an affront.”

“Yeah, but babe, they were only teenagers and had no idea what they were doing.” Deuce interjects on the metaphorical behalf of the four,  _ currently rather scorched but rapidly recovering _ , members of a supernatural-worshipping club that had attended the convention the previous year. “They thought they were just going to invite a spirit in for a confursation, not drag a powerful demon into their midst…”

She waves a hand dismissively, like context didn’t really matter when it came to the convention-attending normies. And, in a way, it didn’t; many of them took to pestering the monster inhabitants of the town all week long, delighted to have a captive audience.   
There were only so many times you could be asked personal, invasive or somewhat racist questions about your monster-type; whilst being assumed to speak as an apparent representative of your entire race, before getting a little bit angry about it.

At worst, there had been attempted huntings; by amateurs, thankfully, but nonetheless it was just rude either way. To come into someone else’s home, their community, and decide you’re going to start trying to destroy them… who did that? Paranormal Investigation Convention Attendees, apparently.

 

“Mmmm, well now they’ve learned not to bother monsters in such a rude way, have they not?” she counters. 

He didn’t have a good counter-argument to that. The teenagers really had learned a rather painful lesson that day, and were unlikely to want to repeat that experience; although it had given all of New Salem’s monster communities a bad name. Rather ironically, considering the young afrit in question was not even a citizen of the township; and merely a tourist from Ghostralia here on va-claw-tion. 

 

The limoscream halted with a slight jolt within the driveway of Cleo’s Fear-a-mid; an Anubian came immediately to open the door and assist Miss de Nile out. Then, after a pause as other servants took her bags, also provided a hand to help Ghoulia to exit the vehicle.    
And, with a quick glance in all directions for the presence of Pharaoh or Nefera, the Anubian servant reluctantly fist-bumped Deuce; who beamed in response as he climbed out of the car. 

 

“See you at school tomorrow!” Draculaura called, waving briefly out a window before retracting her hand as the sun began to bite back on her solar-sensitive skin. Then, almost an afterthought, she added a hurried, “Call me if you want to be picked up!” 

“Bye, Ula D!”

“ _ <Goodbye!> _ ”

“See you later, guys!”

 

The farewells trailed behind them as the limoscream began descending the driveway once more; leaving the final trio to stretch out over the unoccupied seats for the last few streets.    
Frankie flops down to lay upon the leather, knowing her stop was the second-to-last and therefore next; so she had to take the luxury as it came. 

As most of the others in the vehicle had, with the obvious exceptions of Cleo and Draculaura, she’d walked to school that morning; and had anticipated the same sort of thing on the return journey. This was an unanticipated, luxurious, bonus. 

The vehicle veered right a tad sharply, nearly rolling them all onto the floor; a muffled apology came through the tinted visor separating the front and back compartments. But it was forgotten in a moment as Frankie sighed, sitting up and sliding her bag on; recognising several of the houses in the area to mean she was almost home again.    
Indeed, it was only a few long seconds before the vehicle was parked outside the ghoul’s home; her father standing on the porch with a worried expression and a charger cord in his hand. 

 

Frankie vaguely remembers texting him her portable power-pack was out of charge, as she exits the limoscream and he strides over, mismatched eyes roving over her for signs of energy depletion. It was no laughing matter, in their family, but the concern was touching.   
She only just manages to wave goodbye to Draculaura and Jackson as the car pulled away, before her father is quizzing her over her health and energy levels.

 

Back in the car, there is more space to flop across the seats and fully enjoy the next two blocks to their neighbouring homes. Nothing is said, but it is clear from the sheer density of the silence between the pair - _ er, trio, theoretically _ \- that both bodies present are thinking hard.

Purrhaps on the same topic... then again, maybe not.   
It is unclear, as neither actually verbalise anything until later, when they exit the vehicle and wish each other farewell. Draculaura adding an offer to take whichever Jekyll-Hyde was present, to school with her in the morning; and Jackson says he will let Holt know to keep his music down in such an enclosed space, tomorrow.

 

Silence falls as they enter their respective households to do, whatever it is they would paranormally do, of an afternoon. Though much earlier than is usual.

 

Sure, the lights dramatically exploded all over the school and eventuated in them all being sent home early without further exposition as to the cause; but, to them, it was just another day at Monster High. Things would be back to functioning correctly in the morning.   
They always were.

 

No one really paid any mind to the events of the day, as they went about their paranormal routines… or shirked them for additional time dedicated to video games and social networking. A few theories were postulated and ultimately ignored in favour of far more interesting news… like Manny finally asking Iris out on a date, or the announcement that the next Skulltimate Rollermaze match was against the notoriously difficult-to-beat Moonlight Academy.

 

And like that, all was forgotten.

They would regret that later.

 

-)0(-

 


	7. All’s Hell that Begins Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terror begins to swell in the halls of Monster High, as deeds grow darker and more... deadly.

She’d fallen asleep on his shoulder halfway through the second  _ Gored of the MurdeRings _ movie.  _ ‘The Two Terrors _ ’ or something like that. He hadn’t really looked at the dvd case, as she’d insisted he be the one to grab the additional snacks in the interim wherein she switched out the first movie.

Curled in close like this, Spectra was something words couldn’t describe. Well, they probably could, but he couldn’t think of any that could properly express how beautifully, wonderfully amazing she was; awake or asleep. Her skin glowed like liquid moonlight, and her hair was the deepest of twilight as the strands fell carelessly over them both.

He loved the ticklish feel of the silky, spectral strands ghosting over his skin.    
He loved the way she practically wrapped about him, when she slept; secure and comfortable despite the distressful conversations in hours past. And the way she’d occasionally take a breath, more out of habit than anything else…

She was peaceful like this, and he loved seeing her free of worry; but mostly, Porter loved Spectra. She was a luminescent rainbow of emotions and passion that filled his world with colour like nothing else ever could; and he would do anything to keep her safe, happy and comfortable.

 

After a moment, it became apparent she had fallen deeply asleep… or dormant, some of the other ghosts liked to call it; they did not do it as frequently as other monsters, as it was only infrequently necessary to recharge, and one would only fall dormant if they felt safe to do so. Porter realised that their positioning was likely to cause at least mild discomfort, should they both fall dormant on this particular item of spectral furnishing and let out a soft huff of annoyance.

Being the responsible one, he wriggled free an arm so he could make a snatch at the remote to turn off both movie and screen. That impressive task performed, Porter slipped an arm under Spectra’s legs; and slid the one about her shoulders down slightly, for a more secure grasp. Easily enough, he lifted her, testing the hold; she may not hit the ground should he drop her accidentally, but there was always a slight chance she could end up falling all the way through the earth itself in this unaware state. It had happened before in the Ghost World.

Always a fun story to wheel out at Parties, as his mother used to say with a conspiratory wink at Porter. He snorted to think of it, then paused halfway through a wall to check the sound hadn’t woken Spectra… no, she was still sleeping silently, curled towards the poltergeist and entirely vulnerable. It flared that same protective streak in him that had first endeared the boo to her, back in the Ghost World when they faced down the Principal’s oppressive regime; and the womanster had threatened Spectra with Detention Chains.

 

Finally making it to the ghoul’s room, he placed her on the top bunk she’d been assigned. For some reason, Spectra always preferred a vantage point where she could scan the entire room in a single glance; it was the only way she ever felt safe. Knowing what he knew now, Porter largely suspected that whatever awful thing had been erased from her mind by her own imaginings… had a large part to play in this particular proclivity of Spectra’s. 

She wriggle for a moment, unconsciously finding a position she found most agreeable, and settled into the semi-transparent bedding. Headmistress Bloodgood had commissioned it, and several others like it, specially for the new transfer students; as the existing furniture would be rather useless for them. There were only so many times you could fall through a bed or a seat, before you got frustrated, after all. 

It was quite thoughtful of her though, and not in the least adhering to the picture of monsters their former head-of-school had painted, whatsoever. Most of what had been told to the incorporeal students, had been outright lies, of corpse. They knew that now.

 

After a few minutes slipped past with all the dexterous subtlty of greased ninjas, and he wholeheartedly blamed Heath Burns for that terrible analogy springing to mind given the boo’s proclivity for terrible punnery; Porter realised it might be odd to just hover there staring at someone while they were dorm-... sleeping. Sheepishly, he floated down and away from the bed, pausing a moment before exiting the ghoul’s room entirely.

For half an hour, he busied himself picking up any snacks or drinks left laying about, and straightening the room. Until the room was so clean there was nothing more he could do for it, no more busywork to be had whatsoever. He frowns as the idea of finishing the movie floate to the forefront of his mind; this room was central, and anything said or watched in here tended to echo all through the small building. No, he couldn’t risk accidentally waking Spectra when the characters began shouting, or the music swelled in a battle scene.

 

So… now what?

He hovered one way, then the other; and then once, twice, thrice more he completed the circuit. If his feet had been moving across the floor, he supposed other monsters would call it ‘pacing’.

From across the room, stashed under a rather large potted plant, his art supplies practically sang to him… 

No. No, he just couldn’t break his promise to Spectra like that. 

But… what else was he going to do until she woke up?    
And, where were the others? Sure, they’d given them space, but it had been… actually, it had been nearly five hours, where on earth had River, Kiyomi and Vandala slipped away to?

 

Porter only realised he must have said it aloud when a familiar voice shattered his internal monologuing. The startled poltergeist nearly falling through the floor as a pink spectre appeared about a foot in front of his face, through the ceiling.

“Well, I’m right here!” chimed an unaffected River Styxx. The Grim Reaper-to-be looked quite pleased with herself at having caught the boo off-guard. “Vandala and Kiyomi decided to do one of those looooooooong, boring overhauls on her ship; you know, the monthly inspection thing for boonarcles and the like?”

He doesn’t get a word in edgewise before she continues relentlessly. “Ugh, no thank you. My vessel is totally fine and ready to ride the winds at all times… and I’ve never had to do the deck-swabbing, matey-avasting thing, or whatever that’s all about.” 

She smiles, suddenly glancing about the room. “So, where’s Spectra gotten to? I know she was upset when we left to give you guys some work-it-out time… oh wait, was I not supposed to say that? Whoops. I mean, when we went to get like, eye-scream or something.”

 

“She’s… asleep. Something was upsetting her, we talked about it, watched some movies and then she fell dormant, so I put her to bed.” He admits, watching River’s eyes go wider and wider with every word. “And now I have no idea what to do with myself. This room’s so clean if I scrub one more thing it might phase out of this dimension entirely.”

 

“Well that’s easy!” River beams. “Now you go out and super-carefully-so-you-don’t-get-caught do your Paintergeist thing for the weird ghost-chasing normies and their cameras!” 

 

“It’s… It’s not that simple anymore, River. Not just Bloodgood,” he forestalls her next words. “I kind of made a promise to Spectra that I wouldn’t go out again. She’s afraid I’ll get hurt…”

Laying all your emotional concerns on the table is a big thing for some people, so Porter’s first reaction was to feel hurt when River’s response to his statement, came out as an amused snort. She waves her hand at him, trying to communicate it’s not aimed at him; well, not directly.

 

“That’s easy!” she says, practically hopping on the spot; which created a rather disturbing visual based on the fact she was still hanging through the ceiling. “You take THIS with you, and no one can hurt you!”

River’s innocent expression belied the size of the scythe she pulled out of her deceptively small bag; handing it to Porter without hesitation. His green eyes blew wide open in surprise at the action, but took it tentatively, reverently in his own palms.   
It was a Reaper Scythe… he knew she had one, but whoa. Very few monsters ever got to hold one, because of what they could do… and the licensing issues, so this was… going to stay with him the rest of his unlife.    
He could not find the words to express how he felt in that moment.

“Yeah, I know. It’s impressive, huh?” River says, adjusting his hands on it so the grip was right. “Now remember, hands there and there, then step-forward-swing if you have to use it. Try not to though, because I only get so many accidental-deaths a year, before they take away my Reaper-in-Training permit. Unless I can prove it was in self-defence, that is. Which this is, I mean.” 

 

“River… I don’t think I can… this is your  _ scythe _ ,” he hisses in a low, awed tone. 

With a flippant gesture, River waves away the words. “Pffft, and now it’s yours, temporarily. Instead of a Grim River, you’re a Grim Porter… geddit?”    
Her laughter echoes off the walls, and he cringes, listening for the sounds of Spectra waking up again. There is silence as the sound fades away, and he manages to relax a little.

“If you’re sure…” he hesitates.

“You bet I am, buddy. Now, why don’t you hand that to me a minute and go grab your not-as-secret-as-you-probably-thought-it-was stash of spray cans from under that big pot thing, and we’ll be on our way.” she says, reaching for the weapon while simultaneously pointing out his rather-obvious-now-the-poltergeist-thinks-about-it hiding place.

Huh, if River knew… then so did Vandala, Kiyomi and Spectra. Well, now he felt foolish, because clearly they’d been politely pretending not to notice his attempts at being covert. That was awk-weird.

Suddenly, the exact phrasing of her words made him pause, hands full of bag and half-phased through the the large ceramic vessel. Porter slips backwards slowly, turning to face River, eyes narrowing in a blend of confused suspicion.    
“What do you mean ‘we’, River?” he asks, not recalling anypoint in the previous confursation wherein he’d agreed to take her with him.

 

“Oh, I’m not going with you.” She hurriedly reassures. “No, no, no. You’re going to take your paint and this rent-a-reaper scythe here, and go do your thing. As for me, I’m going to go out for a moonlight sail… you know, before the Headless Headmistress gets too paranoid to even let me do that, anymore!”

 

He gratefully accepts the scythe once more, watching her cheerful expression morph into something mischievous.

River tilts her head slightly, eyes twinkling. “You know, technically… neither of us are supposed to be doing what we’re planning to do right now…”

Porter answers her cheeky grin with a sly one of his own.    
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he whispers, his smile broadening at River’s dramatic, conspiratorial wink.

“You, my friend, have got yourself a deal!” she chirps, foregoing the traditional shaking-of-hands to seal the pact, for a rather elaborate series of high-fives. 

 

With that, the pair parted silently in the night, to go about their separate business.    
Never suspecting that one of them would never return.   
  


-)0(-

 

Speaking of the Headless Headmistress, Bloodgood was using every meditation technique she had ever learned to reign in her anger. 

The school was in complete disarray; lightbulbs and rods had exploded in all directions, thankfully nothing had caught fire in the ensuing shower of sparks and shards. In addition, several of the school’s electrical outlets had ceased functioning; others nothing more than melted plastic and toxic, charred, sludge.

It was going to take a significant amount of effort and expenditure to get this school back to its former functionality; but it could be done, if only the supposedly-dispatched employees of  _ Valhowlla Electrical Services _ would see fit to actually arrive when they were asked. The woman on the phone had sent an email not half an hour after her initial call; it stated technicians would arrive between three and five o’clock that evening.

Thankfully, as an agency run by monsters, many of their contractors were not adverse to nocturnal hours, and indeed preferred them; meaning that whomsoever was dispatched would likely be able to have a significant portion of the school operating again come morning. At current, there was a level of desperation to the wait; with freezers thawing rapidly, pool filters no longer functioning nor pumps aerating the water, and experiments disintegrating without climate-controlled environments to sustain them. 

In short, it was chaos.

 

It was also nine o’clock in the evening, and the Dullahan was very seriously considering sending a rather abrasive follow-up call to the agency; the main purpose of which would be to find out exactly where the technicians they had dispatched were currently. This went beyond rudeness and into an entirely knew level of disservice.

She had had to allow Abbey Bominable return home by herself over three hours prior; the yeti ghoul trying her best not to seem too bored by all the sitting, waiting and quickly conferred words between Creatures. This was the time when Rochelle Goyle would usually be placed in charge of the school until morning.   
Gargoyles rarely requiring sleep, whilst simultaneously having an inner drive to guard and protect those around them, made her the perfect candidate for the role. Bloodgood trusted the young garghoul with her unlife, and knew all decisions made in her absence would be both sound, and of a similar nature to her own problem-solving methodologies. 

Tonight, however, Rochelle and Robecca Steam were instead moving through the corridors and catacombs, checking for any additional anomalies on her orders. While the Headmistress waited in her office, in case the electrical agency should call again to advise of an inability to send someone at this time; which would necessitate the sending of a school-wide e-mail to every student and their parents, stipulating school would be cancelled for the next day.

Additionally, there were creatures at the front, back, attic and catacomb entrances; turning away the night-class students and staff. Though the darkness was not a cause for concern amongst them, the glass did pose a significant hazard to all who entered; and at current, they were attempting to minimise risk factors until it could be contained.

Jaw-nitorial staff could only do so much at once, after all.

 

The phone upon her office desk began to ring, shrilly, in the otherwise silent room. She deftly directed her body to pick it up and hold it to her ear, where her head rested on the desk. Bloodgood anticipated that perky voice again, but instead, heard Mr Hack informing her of the electrical technicians’ arrival.

She thanked him, and put the phone down.   
With a deep breath to  steady herself, the Dullahan slipped her head under an arm and walked from the room; rather wishing Nightmare were not away at an annual retreat. So that the Headmistress might be placed in a more intimidating position, by which to broach her contempt for their lateness. Nothing said, ‘Your wrongdoing will be punished’ quite like a headless horsemanster or slaydy astride their mount, glaring down at you from the crook of an arm. 

It was most effective if set in a position where a full-moon could be directly behind, but ah, one could not always have a dramatic backdrop by which to lecture. Could one?

 

Hallways passed in a blur of measured footsteps, her eyes periodically glancing down to direct her body where it need step to avoid the dangerous debris. It was not overly far to the front entrance from her office, provided you took the direct route specified on the maps laced throughout the school; predominantly near doorways and secret passages.

Still, it felt as if this particular journey took longer than usual.    
Or, perhaps it was far more likely that she was simply hyper-aware of the lack of student unlife about her; corridors and classrooms were empty, no bodies bustled past on their way to class. All was silent and still. 

Certainly this could be fixed by the following night, if the right incentives were provided to these finally-here employees of Valhowlla Electrical Services. Money was easily come by when many of your students were children of immortal beings whose wealth had accumulated so vastly over the centuries, they no longer had any real use for it; and could afford to give generously to school fundraising activities. 

 

With the front entrance in sight, Bloodgood paused in surprise; blinking rapidly a few times in order to comprehend whether it was true, or her overtired mind was merely playing tricks. As it was sometimes known to do.

Standing beside, and even conversing with, Mr Hack… were a pair of humans; both seemed rather at ease, and wore identical raiment. Deep, midnight-blue coveralls with ‘Valhowlla Electrical Services’ embroidered upon the back in somewhat dirty yellow thread; in fact, despite the tidy appearance of the persons wearing the concealing jumpsuits, it was apparent the uniforms had seen better days. It gave the impression of many years’ worth of hard work.

Which was surprising, as Bloodgood had not been aware that the electrical company had begun adding non-monster contractors to their roster; usually, and the school had a long-standing relationship with Volhowlla’s by which  base this, a team of three monster technicians would be dispatched for all minor flaws and service checks. Not once in her memory could she recall a human being hired, or sent.

However, it was, to her own mind at the very least, a positive sign of changing attitudes within both communities.

 

She put on her most winning of smiles and strode forwards.    
“Welcome to Monster High, I am Headmistress Bloodgood. I see you have met our Mad Science teacher, Mr Hack, already.” 

They were remarkably similar up close; both man and woman having brunette hair, though of different lengths and shades, and average faces. She found that their image did not exactly linger in her mind, when she turned away; it was as if they were so average as to be entirely unforgettable. 

Bloodgood made a mental note to try and retain their names, and be as cordial as possible. It must be difficult to go through unli-... life, with such statistically attractive features; to not make more than a fleeting impression on those around you.

The man took her proffered hand first, with a warm smile and a cool palm. “Brent Diggles, lovely to meet you, Ma’am. Sorry about the tardiness, we got called to an emergency job down at the old folks’ home; someone mistakenly tied to microwave a bowl with the fork still in it… and the darn thing blew out their entire system. Which left the little old generator they had out the back struggling to keep all those life-support machines beeping, until we could get right in there and fix it.”

“Oh, I entirely understand the need to prioritise, Mr Diggles.” The Headmistress said, appreciating how he looked into her eyes the entire con-fur-sation. “Think nothing more of it.”

“And I’m Judy, Judy MacIntyre. Oh I just love what you have going with your hair!” Said the woman in a thick southern accent that would be liable to make Operetta Phantom jealous; vivaciously shaking Bloodgood’s hand until she was concerned it might fall off from overuse.

“Thank you, Ms MacIntyre.” She inclines her chin slightly to nod, as best one can from in the crook of their own elbow. “Are you aware of the stitchuation, or would you prefer I walk you through it?”

 

“A walk-through would be downright lovely, if you don’t mind, Ma’am.” Judy says, still smiling. “That way you can give us an idea of where to prioritise our efforts, make sure we get this place back up and running as fast as possible. Not that the students’ll thank us for that, eh Brent?”

He laughs right back. “No, I don’t think they will.”   
Brent claps his hands together, looking about at the chaos slowly being removed by the Jawnitors through any means necessary. “Well, we might as well get started… oh, where are my manners? Ladies first.”

Despite herself, the Dullahan feels her original reservations fade away the more they confurse; and smiles at them. “Please, follow me... “

 

-)0(-

 

The stars are out, the moon is full and the wind sifts its invisible fingers through her hair with all the tenderness of a mumster brushing it out… the large spirit vessel creaks as she turns the rudder to change course. 

Dawn would happen along soon, and she could not risk being the subject of some Paranomal Investigator’s new viral video; though, that would be a fun thing to put on her resu-maim… 

No, no she couldn’t.    
Her dad would, heh, kill her should he find out.

 

Dark figures shifted alongside the boat, just outside her field of vision.    
_ Ugh, here we go… hello Frightube, and hello eternal detention _ , River groaned to herself. Looking every whichway in an attempt to get an accurate read on who, where and how many conventioneers were currently weaving in and out of the shadows. 

She hears… hissing?    
Had they brought snakes with them, or something?    
Short bursts, deliberate. Oh, maybe this was them trying to make their own sound effects or something; that was, somewhere firmly planted between genius… and pathetic. Charitably, she went with the former and only  _ thought _ the latter.

 

Suddenly, the boat lurches and River is nearly thrown headfirst off of the usually-reliable craft. It no longer responds to her commands… almost as if it had, locked in place.   
This had never happened before, shouldn’t have been able to happen under any circumstances; her beloved boat was literally intangible to all but monsters, and invisible to the eyes of most humans. Right?

Wasn’t that what Porter had said?

 

Symbols glowed in a wide oval about the ship, from vessel to stern and back around again. They pulsed the longer she looked, and a ball of fear began to grow in her core; this was impossible, and yet, it was happening. The daughter of the Reaper wished, more than anything, she had her scythe right now… or Porter; or both. Both would have been fangtastic.

Hanging over the railing, the ghost pushed forwards and felt none of the resistance holding her vessel in stasis. She could leave if she wanted; get help, and come back to save her boat.   
River leaps over the side and shoots off down the street; it’s a normie business district, full of shut shops and cafes that did not cater to nocturnal customer. In other words, there was no chance of gaining assistance from anywhere close-by.

 

Something moved in her peripheral vision, and she jerked instinctively away from it; heading in the opposite direction right-... down an alleyway. Okay, no matter, she’d go through the dead-end and hope it came out somewhere better…

...except, she couldn’t.

Half-way down the pitch-black dead-end corridor, River Styxx slams head-first into a wall that does not exist. She pounds against it, displacing only the faintest outline of a transparent, circular prison with every fist-fall. Dammnit, her scythe could have cut through whatever curse or enchantment this was in a second.

Sighing angrily, and mildly reeling from the full-on thwack she took striking the magical barrier at great speed a few seconds ago, River shuts her eyes and just hopes that Porter is having a better time than she is. As long as he’s okay, she can be rescued.

The world tilts one way, and then the other, when she opens her eyes at the sounds of shuffling and sneers. Figures, some wearing all-black, others in obnoxiously-loud va-claw-tion wear, surround the barrier with faces blank of any emotion whatsoever. 

River is panicking internally, but she won’t show them any fear, no matter what they do.

No fear.

_ Something is tossed in to land under her feet. _

No fear…

_ A swell of many voices rises about her until it feels like she is choking. _

No…

_ Hands upon her, dissipating... _

  
  


As her scream rings out, loud and forlorn in the empty night air, before ceasing with a heart-stopping immediacy; the curse about her beloved boat unlocks. Freed, not by the shrill cry of it’s ghostly guide; but instead freedom comes when a single symbol is scuffed irreparably, unintentionally actioned by one of the retreating figures. 

With a long, almost mournful creak, the vessel lurches into motion once more… drifting aimlessly away in search of its mistress…

 

-)0(-


	8. Ecto-presumed Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear and Uncertainty grip New Salem's monster citizens as disappearances come to light.

“Why do we have to bury the bodies?” griped the young female hunter, waist deep in a muddy hole and continuing to dig. Shoveload by shoveload, they slowly approached the necessary depth of eight feet deep, in which to dump the… necessary collateral damages, where snooping law enforcement agencies were unlikely to locate them. 

The other member of Team Theta just stared back, unamused. He was resting for a moment, watching to make sure she did not shirk her turn at digging the body pit.   
Not that she would; it was insulting to have someone assume that of you, in all honesty, but she still let him do so uncontested. Hoping that, when she had proven herself competent enough to be placed in an elite undercover team like Beta, or… possibly impossible to wish for, Alpha Team… then his disapproving glares would mean nothing.

He didn’t speak.

 

Literally. He didn’t speak.

He couldn’t, after an operation went wrong a decade before she was even born; some kind of wendigo in the woods had taken a liking to him, while he was playing bait for his older siblings, who were laying in ambush. She only knew rudimentary sign language, the kind used to give other members of your strike teams commands; but through the persistent use of youtube tutorials, the young hunter had managed to understand his story about back then.

Something,  _ and admittedly the speed at which he often ‘spoke’ was a tad difficult to keep up with when you were new to this _ , about it being too clever; about a pair of the creatures stalking about the camp. One aimed for him, the other for his siblings, simultaneously.

He made it out alive only because he was just too scrawny to be a real meal; they just left him there. The story went something along the lines of, he tracked them back to their lair and killed his siblings before setting the whole place afire. It sounded cruel, but it was better than being eaten alive; these things were humans once, but now the cannibalistic things were  so damn twisted they had no concept of mercy. He was a kid unable to drag them out of there as injured as they were… so he did what he could.

One of them managed to stumble out, trying to attack even as it burned; it was the blow to the throat that took his voice, but he managed to kick it back inside the flames before it could kill him. Then stumbled on home to the adulation of his remaining family members.

What the guy was doing in Team Theta with her, God only knew.

She half-wished her backstory was that tragic or laced with heroic deeds; but the reality was, she and her sibling had been born into this life. Like Lillith, they grew up with the idea of being part of the Van Hellscream legacy, the heritage; and trained in different forms of fighting, and identification techniques, until they were old enough to begin Hunter Training. It usually kicked in at the same time as puberty; for that, as the few remaining family elders used to say, was the best time to bend and mold young bodies into weaponry. When they were supple and amenable to change.

 

The dull metal blade dug into the hard-packed earth again and again, tossing out a little more solid each time, and leaving nothing but empty air to show for all their efforts. Holes were, when you thought about it, contradictory. Physical exertion to create what was essentially a void within something.

Such thinking spiralled mind away from matter, allowing thoughts to cloud messages of exertion from her body until a hand tapped her insistently on the shoulder. Snapping reality back into focus; and making a certain frizzy-haired young woman rather aware of the ache lancing through her muscles. Uncle Theta, as she’d been mentally calling him for lack of another title, was signing that the hole was now deep enough… and to get out so he could put the bodies in.

 

Tossing the shovel out first, the usually quite agile huntress managed a rather classy flop that allowed her stomach and all above it to exit the hole; leaving legs dangling within, until she wriggled forwards and free. Ah yes, when they got back to Van Hellsing manor, she was having that snooty manservant draw her the biggest bubble bath known to man… secrecy be damned. Lillith probably had a good idea what was happening anyway.

He huffed softly at her actions but made no move to help, or hinder.   
Had her brother been here, he would have shoved her back in the pit with a great guffaw of laughter; thinking himself witty, right up until she’d nailed him with a large clod of dirt right to the back of the head. He’d always been quite fastidious about his hair, and the very idea of dirt or slime or any other non-product items getting in it would send him running for a shower. Then again, she was the same when it came to her hair, and he’d never failed to use it against her; the smug not-so-little jerk.

 

Still, she’d give anything for im to be here dumping a bucket of dirt over her right now, or prodding her in all the achey places where her muscles were screaming out for panadol. Pangs of grief began to stir in her heart, but she clamped down on them immediately; knowing that if she just held on, he would be avenged. This would all… all be  _ better _ , after that. It would all be  _ easier _ .

It  _ had _ to be, because she was running out of options.

 

A dull thud announced that Uncle Theta had dropped one of the unlifeless  _ things _ down in the hole they’d collectively dug, in the burning light of oncoming dawn. It was the best time to do things, really… humans and day monsters weren’t out and about yet, and anything nocturnal was already back from when in came, fearing the detrimental effects sunlight tended to have on their bodies. 

No witnesses.

 

She picked up the other one, muscles protesting, and moved over to the grave-like pit; dropping it in carelessly, watching it bounce off the other still form with a sort of impassive, anthropological intrigue. They never show you, in monster movies, the kind of clean-up necessary after the big fight’s gone down between Biceps McGee and the Monster of the Month he’s fighting… just the fight, and some paltry scene at the end where he gets the token female co-star.

The reality was more… depraved, in a sense.

 

Vampires don’t always dust when you stake them. Oh, some do, anything older than about five centuries who has earned their vampire powers; but the younger ones, or the late bloomers? They just keeled over with a horrified expression on their face.   
Yeah, they never put that in the films, did they. Might be a bit too realistic for the mundane folk to see. 

It was staring at her right now, actually. She hadn’t been able to tell exactly what it was, male or female, given the shapeless uniform and the oddly unisex hairstyle; but it had wide yellow eyes. Those orbs had expressed a look of such utter betrayal when the young woman they’d stopped their vehicle to help… had rammed a stake through their chest. 

The other one was clearly a dude, some sort of werewolf. No wait, maybe it was a female…   
She turns her head and squints a little. Yeah, actually from that angle, it’s a woman, she was just incredibly ripped for… someone in their profession. 

Fun fact, silver bullets are just an expensive myth perpetuated by the Lycan community in order to make attempts on their unlives a little less accessible to the common folk they besieged on a daily basis. All you really have to do is sever the spinal cord in the right spot and stab them in the heart, or decapitate them; because while their advanced healing is rapidly trying to fix the spinal damage, nothing is devoted to additional injuries, thus they often bleed out before regaining the mobility to escape. Their own biology was flawed against them. 

It was a grim sort of beautiful that she could appreciate. 

Every predator had a fatal opening that meant they could be taken down; it was how the world kept the balance. How prey rose to conquer predators, even when all odds should be against them.

It was how Hunters functioned.   
They took on supernatural creatures far faster, stronger, more powerful and deadly than themselves on a day-to-day basis; and they won, because they learned to exploit that one chink in the armour. That tiny gap, the weakness inherent to all things.    
Nothing was invulnerable. Some tiny blasphemous part of her whispered that Hunters could probably kill god if they dedicated enough time and effort to it… but she quashed it down, stopping herself from getting too carried away. 

It was merely the thrill of the kill; the rush of endorphins that came back when remembering a successful hunt. Flowing through her tired frame and imbuing it with strength once more.

 

She stared down into the pit, saw both the bodies looking back up at her… eyes utterly devoid of any lifespark… and felt, nothing. And everything.

She felt nothing for what loss their families would feel; and everything for the victory these casualties would invoke, given time. Collateral damage. It happened sometimes.

 

Uncle Theta appeared beside her and began pouring the gasoline into the hole; to wipe away all traces of them, in case the grave was discovered. As he stepped away, she pulled out the small box of matches in her pocket; smiling as she struck one into brilliant flame.   
It danced for her, consuming all in it’s path as it aimed to bite at her ducky fingers; but she laughed and turned it another direction. 

She stared at them, one last time; memorising their bodies, their faces and forms for her report later on. Then, with a long almost-sigh, she exhaled the words, “Poor Bastards”, and dropped the match in without hesitation.

 

They watched it burn.   
They watched THEM burn… on and on it went for ten minutes, maybe more.   
Eventually what was left in the hole seemed to resemble nothing concretely bipedal, and the pair felt confident that it was time to begin shovelling dirt back in.

 

It only took three feet of dirt to cover over the charred remains; Unle Theta jumping down to tromp about, packing the earth as flat as possible before climbing out once more.   
An ancient hunter trick was at play here. You dug a hole of eight or more feet, and slid the bodies in before, if necessary, burning them; then covered them up until the hole was no more than six feet in total depth. At which point a false casket was inserted, and the pseudo-grave filled in; complete with false grave-marker for a randomly generated name.

Today, they were burying ‘Markus James Antonetii’; which she found hilarious for various reasons… and Uncle Theta, did not. 

 

Still, by the time the grave-marker was in place and the tools relocated back into the Ford ute they’d been provided for the operation; both parties were exhaustedly exhilarated.    
The only difference between them, was that she had chosen to express it on the outside; with a loud whoop, and a fistpump that was followed by a wince as her aching muscles reminded her why that had been a terrible idea.

 

-)0(-

 

Spectra’s all-encompassing fury at the reality of waking to find Porter had lied to her and left during the night to go cause mischief, was short-unlived. From the moment she had hovered out of bed, anger growing as she searched every room of the small building and finding no boofiend, she had known something else was also amiss.

Vandala had kicked open the front-door dramatically with her peg-leg, shouting at the top of her usually-functionally-useless lungs, for River to ‘ _ Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are! _ ’. Swiftly followed by Kiyomi, whose hands were a writhing mass of movement; clearly showing off the anxiety she felt but did not vocalise.

It was somewhere around six in the morning, and the other monsters in the building were groaning in protest at the loud interruption to the small amount of sleep they still could have laid claim to. Predominantly the loudest complaints came from the werekat trio, and Avea Trotter; who had come galloping into the shared kitchen at great speed, demanding to know what the ruckus was about.

Usually when someone made that much noise, it was more than likely the house the hybrids were unliving in was about to be set afire; given the aversion to ‘mix-n-match’ monster types many in both the human and monster communities harboured. So it wasn’t long before the far-too-compassionate and clumsy Neighthan Rot, shy but sweet Bonita Femur and the kind yet scatter-brained Sirena Von Boo; all appeared behind her in various states of dishevelled sleepwear and determination.

Other members of the technical ‘household’ appear. Including the international students Skelita Calaveras and Jinafire Long; the latter of whom managed to drag Toralei Stripes, Meowlody and Purrsephone from their beds in the face of a potential emergency. Each stood and awaited an explanation from Vandala, or perhaps Kiyomi if she could calm down enough; when Porter came through a wall, cackling.

He pulls up short at the gathering.

“Er, if this in an intervention about leaving the ghost-toilet seat up, I swear I will be more mindful of your needs in future, slaydies.” He quips immediately, seeing the way Spectra narrows her eyes at him and realising going on the defensive was merely a pre-emptive move. Before he can say anything else (possibly burying him deeper than his mortal remains ever were), Vandala grabs him by the shoulders and whirls the poltergeist about.

“Where did you get that, matey?” she asks, tone cautiously optimistic and commanding. It takes more than a moment before Porter realises she’s referring to the Scythe he’s wielding.

“Oh, er, River let me borrow it last night so I could... “ he mumbles low.

 

Toralei’s ears perk up, sensing gossip; and if she had to get out of bed this early in the damn morning, she’d better at least get some collateral for her troubles. “I’m sorry,” she purrs, “but I couldn’t hear… what was that, Porter?”

He mumbles a second time, and looks at the ceiling. The rest of the room is rather confused and sleep-addled; but Vandala is having none of if, she shakes him again until he shouts in response.

“ALRIGHT! Alright, hey, stop that and I’ll tell you!” he huffs an angry, unnecessary breath. “River let me borrow her scythe last night, so I could go out and mess about with some more para-normie investigators in the abandoned service station across town. She only did it because I was afraid of breaking my promise to Spectra that I wouldn’t do it at all…”

He frowns. “Wait, that didn't make sense. I mean, she pointed out that I only promised Spectra I wouldn’t do it so I didn't run the risk of getting hurt or whatever; so she gave me this, to protect me ‘just in case’. Which means I wasn’t technically breaking my promise.

Naturally I tried to make her take it back, but she said she was just going on a midnight, moonlight cruise through town before Bloodgood shut all the boat-rides down for good; and didn’t need protection for that.” The Paintergeist suddenly blinks, like reality had smacked him upside the head. Green eyes darting over the assembled and noting a conspicuous absence.

“Wait… where’s River?” he asks, slowly.

 

“We do not know,” Kiyomi states, voice aiming for calm and collecting; missing by a hair’s breadth due to her internal panic about the stitchuation. “That was why we had hoped you would be able to explain how you came to have her scythe. No one else has seen her since last night, and we are all aware that River may be fanciful… but she would never run off without telling someone where she was going.”

 

“So, one of you ghosts is missing?” Toralei asks bluntly, tone carrying just the right inflection of boredom to suggest she did not really care. In reality, she was digging for more infearmation without giving any outward expressions that the werekat gave a damn. 

“Stir your stumps, my werecatfish mateys, there’s a crew member out there missing and possibly in a sea of trouble right now. We have to go and find her,” Vandala stated passionately; and then, without waiting for any of them to respond, turned to stride out again. Hovering off down the street, head turning in all directions as River’s name rang out.

  
  


“Of corpse we will help you find your friend,” Neighthan assured, looking to Bonita, Sirena and Avea. Only the latter rolled her eyes and stomped a hoof in characteristic annoyance at being roped into the whole shenanigans by sheer coincidence of unliving in the same residence. It was a front she enjoyed perpetuating.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go find this ghoul before those weird normies at the convention thing do.” she sighs, crossing purple arms over her chest. 

 

“We’ve already looked in a two-block radius to either side of the building and the school,” Kiyomi said. “River doesn’t usually go too far away when she sails at night… I can’t imagine she’s much further than that.”

 

“Alright, I’m assuming everyone has at least one iCoffin between the groups I’m seeing here?” Porter interjects, impending doom pushed aside in his thoughts so he might focus on the peril River might be in right this moment. Two or three heads nod in his direction.

“Hexcellent,” he claps his hands together.    
“Right, we’re going to have to split up. Jinafire, Skelita… could I ask you to stay here just in case she turns up and we’re all just panicking for nothing? Thanks for that.   
Toralei, can you and your ghouls head towards the school, maybe pick Vandala up on the way so she’s not alone, and see if she went there for some reason?    
Avea, Neighthan, Bonita and Sirena... can your group go the opposite direction to them, so we can cover more ground?

I’ll go out the backdoor, towards the Maul, and see if I can find her in that direction. Kiyomi and Spectra, can you head towards the normie side of town… just in case she got lost or decided to come and find me last night?”

 

Her expression towards him is cold, but his hopefully-still-ghoulfiend, nods her acquiescence to the role given. “And we will call if we find her,” she adds, forestalling that part of the confursation. 

 

They stand about awkweirdly for maybe thirty seconds, waiting to see if anyone else had something to say; but finally, and no one knew who made the first move… just that they did, they all started for the front door. Like an impromptu pyjama parade-slash-rescue squad.

 

If River Styxx was anywhere in the boundaries of New Salem; they’d find her.

They had to.

-)0(-

 

Placing your head on the cool surface of the desk had an entirely new dimension of meaning when you were a Dullahan, the Headmistress mused, tiredly. 

It had taken all night; a long stretch of star-dotted darkness in which two highly-capable professionals dashed in and out, in and out of the school with various supplies and powertools to return order, where chaos reigned. Lights in all their many shapes were replaced, outlets removed and new fixtures added where once sludge remained; and they had even taken the time to check whether any of the other systems had been compromised by the power-surge. Though found no issues within the freezers, refrigeration units, lab or pool equipment; which was a minor blessing in and of itself.

Everything was powering up; and save a few experiments that would require an extension so the students may restart them, nothing was permanently damaged. The final tests would be done somewhere between the first and second period, after Valhowlla Electrical Services had completed a full-spectrum analysis of the grid itself; to locate any additional flaws that might lead to the school-wide blow-out, occurring once more.

 

She off-handedly sent her body the message that it needed to write itself a note.   
The Headmistress simply must ask Miss Stein not to charge herself at school for the next few days, unless necessary; just to make certain the flaw in the system could not be aggravated by additional drain, nor could she be injured should the surge happen once more. 

As she vividly remembered from their Monster University days, you can, indeed, overcharge a Frankenstien. Nothing good ever comes from it… unless you should take advantage of their hyper-electrified state and use them to power a rather impressive dorm-wide Cryptsmas lights display. 

She and Mr Stein still could not have a Parent-Creature interview without laughing a little about it. Ah, memories.

  
  


There was a gentle hubbub of voices as students arrived for school, and the clock on the wall announced it was already eight-thirty. The warning bell would ring in fifteen minutes, giving students ample time to grab the necessary equipment and run off to their first classes of the day. Some might have difficulty reading or teaching in the current darkness, but it would soon be fixed.

  
  


Hmmm, her drowsy mind sharpened just long enough to realise that she must have fallen asleep sometime before dawn. Although she recalled the frantic movement of the technicians the night previously, and had only just glanced out of a nearby classroom window to see that their vehicle was gone; indicating they had completed the entirety of their tasks and were now doing what she only wished she could… go to bed.

But a nagging, half-formed thought lingered at the back of her mind.

She had seen them work.   
She had seen their utility vehicle was now absent from the parking lot.

...but she hadn’t seen them leave.

 

Disquieted on a deeply personal level, most likely to do with sleep-deprivation, Bloodgood felt her body nearly leap right off the hair as the phone rang. It picked up the receiver and sort of laid it down beside the Headmistress.

 

“Hello, this is Pam Tome from Valhowlla Electrical Services calling for… Headmistress Bloodgood of Monster High?” said an older, raspy voice that she more readily recognised than the previous night’s perky young slaydy. 

“Speaking. Good morning, Pam.”She responds, cordially; trying hard to erase the tiredness from her tone.

“And a good morning to you too, Headmistress. Now, there’s a note on your account to let you know that the company has checked the power grid and it seems that the surge you experienced was actually due to external interference. We’re tracing it right now, to see if it was accidental or deliberate; and if so, where it originated.” Pam tells her. “You can go ahead and switch on the lights whenever you are ready, they’re guaranteed not to go out again!”

 

“Oh my, thank you for your diligence and impeccable service, Pam. We at Monster High can always trust that Valhowlla Electrical Services have our most chaotic power crises in hand, and we thank you for that.” Bloodgood says with a smile, her words sincere. This was not the first calamity they’d responded to without questions or commentary on the ridiculousness of the stitchuation. 

Pam giggles. “Why thank you, we aim to serve as best we can.” There is a pause filled with hesitation, before the womanster speaks again. “Madam, I was just wondering if it would be possible to speak with the technicians we sent on over the night previously, they haven’t radioed in since we dispatched them at 3 o’clock yesterday afternoon.”

 

“I’m terribly sorry, but it appears they’ve already left.” Bloodgood answers. “I admit I fell asleep and missed the exact time of departure, but it must have been fairly recent if they have not yet checked in with you. Although, I understand that their minds may have been rather distracted due to the electrical outage at the New Salem elderly care home, yestereve.”

 

“I… Ma’am?” Pam responds, confused. “We have no record of such an event happening, and it would have been meticulously documented for governmental records if it had, I assure you. Especially as it is an establishment housing primarily human residents.” 

 

Frowning, Bloodgood reunite her head and body before picking up the phone; expression grave. She was not one who enjoyed being lied to.

“Pam, I do not wish to infer falsehood, but the technicians specifically stated the reason they did not arrive until almost nine o’clock last night, was due to an emergency stitchuation being experienced at the aforementioned residence. These were the exact words I was told by your contractors as they arrived; a member of my staff can confirm the story told, as they were also present at the time.”

 

Pam seemed to be struggling to find the records, going by the severe amount of mouse-clicking that could be clearly heard through the phoneline.    
“Headmistress, I apologise for their lateness to your emergent stitchuation; I cannot find any officially slated requests for what they have undoubtedly described to you. Thus I have to conclude they were either working outside the company’s guidelines, or have lied to you… we will of course take a percentage off the bill for the repair because of this inconvenience…”

 

Bloodgood raises an eyebrow, mind whirring. Her tone slipped into the very one she used when it came to calming hysterical students. “No, please leave it as it is; the service was more than exemplary. I did not wish to fluster you into an apologetic state; merely gain answers in regards to several unanswered questions that they have left in their wake.”

 

Pam, audibly, swallows… then exhales slowly.   
Finally, she speaks again. “I do apologise, Ma’am. This stitchuation is entirely out of the ordinary, Fangretta Moon and Wing Mandragorian are two of our beast contract technicians; we have literally never had a problem with either before. Both she and they are the most-experienced, and highest-rated in the company; which is why the pair were dispatched to handle your stitchuation in the first place.”

 

She nearly drops the phone, body suddenly feeling very cold..and very distant.   
“Wh-... what did you say their names were again?”

Pam’s voice responds quietly with a single, “Ma’am?” that conveyed a mounting concern they both seemed to be feeling.

“Their names, once more, please.” Bloodgood repeats, hoping she was wrong. 

 

“Fangretta Moon, and Wing Mandragorian.” Pam dutifully responds.

 

Bloodgood takes a breath, and then another. “I do not suppose either were human, by any chance?” she grasps for the faintest straws left available, hoping that this was not a deception by which her students had been put in great danger once again.

“N...no, Headmistress. Fangretta, as the name suggests, is a werewolf; and her unlikely partner was Wing, a vampire. Valhowlla Electrical Company has never employed a full-human, Ma’am; not for lack of trying, of corpse, it’s just that they don’t ever seem comfortable with the idea of working alongside monsters.    
We do, however, have several part-humans on staff, could they have been-...?”

 

“I am afraid not, Ms Tome.” She cut in over the increasingly-concerned ramble. “Not unless you have company records on one Mr Brent Diggles, and a Miss Judy MacIntyre?”

 

Pam’s voice was soft now, scared. Bloodgood knew the feeling.   
Frantic typing filled the silent phoneline between them for what seemed like an eternity.   
“...no, Ma’am. Neither of those names are familiar and I can’t find them in our database. I…  _ I have no idea who was in your school last night. _ ”

 

Bloodgood’s eyes snap open to their fullest extent; the Dullahan is suddenly wide awake and filled with an all-encompassing worry. It thrums through her for a few seconds before a strange calm seemed to assert itself amidst the rising panic within her breast.

“Thank you, Pam, but I will take it from here.  _ Do have a nice day. _ ”

 

The Headless Headmistress head _ missed _ whatever it was the now-frantic womanster said in response, as she put the phone down; shaken to the core.   
  


-)0(-

 

Heads turned as Holt Hyde practically explodes into the school, ready and raring for his Thursday morning Mu-shriek class. Trailing behind at a more sedate pace, was a rather bemused Draculaura; who had picked up the boos that morning, as promised, in her limoscream.   
  


Apparently Jackson  _ had _ remembered to leave the note out for his… well, they were going with ‘twin’, _for the sake of avoiding any unnecessary paradox-contemplation- induced migraines this early in the morning_ ; as the literal Party-manster had remembered to switch his tunes to the barely-audible beat-track that allowed him to exist, and hold confursations. Which the tiny, pink vampire ghoul vastly appreciated. 

Last time he’d caught a ride home with her, the enclosed space of the limoscream’s back seats had managed to amplify the beats pounding out Holt’s beloved red headphones, to the point where it felt very much like attending one of his gigs. Though today, there had been no shouted exchanges of pleasantries; they could hear each other quite well, and even stopped off to get some caf-fiend-ated goodness on the way. 

Of corpse, her father would not have approved of the detour; predominantly because it would risk her exposing herself to the sun more than usual, but nothing overtly awful had happened. Actually, on the way in, they’d caught sight of several of the boarding students wandering about in their rumpled sleepwear; alert eyes betraying their just-rolled-out-of-bed attire. 

Draculaura had slipped out her iCoffin and texted a few different monsters, trying to find out if there was anything going down they should be helping out with; but no one seemed to know what they were up to. Clawdeen had texted that the school was already cleaned up when she and Clawd got there at seven that morning; no glass shards or scorch marks were anywhere to be found. 

 

Well, the Headmistress always had the best contacts when it came to school matters.   
It was not an unusual thought that she had brought in a small army of technicians to enact repairs overnight and have it ready for students to return the next day. And night, of corpse; for the students with more traditionally nocturnal schedules.

Her sometimes-fiend, Gory Fangtell, had been all over MaceBook complaining about how even the Night-Students were turned away because of this electricity-issue. She and her boofiend, Bram Devein, had had a rather important exam to take last night; a Biteology final worth almost half their total grade. From her perspective, not letting students who thrived in dark environments, into the school based on a lack of light-functionality, was simply ridiculous!

Draculaura had argued with her half the night that it was actually a matter of safety, what with all the shattered glass about; someone could severely hurt themselves. Not to mention, the surge had not only make a few bulbs explode; it had short-circuited the entire system, and even melted some power outlets beyond recognition. 

Eventually, Gory had ceased replying and Draculaura had ended up falling asleep on her phone; meaning the next morning, she’d had an iCoffin-shaped imprint across her face, and an impending status full of long strings of random letters. The latter, she deleted; though only after a long moment’s contemplation as to whether her fiends would think it funny, or grow concerned for her mental state. As for the former, well, she let it fade and simply got ready for school as she always did.

Holt was kind enough not to mention the still-vaguely-visible imprint, when he met her at the door. Mostly, the car ride was full of random confursation; being intermittently existent meant that many minute happenings of day-to-night unlife were big news. 

Specifically, the DJ was interested in whatever it was that had gone down yesterday. All their homework and chores had been complete by the time he got up that morning, meaning someone had clearly had more time than usual to do things; though all their, unfortunately shared, diary said on the matter was ‘sent home early’. Which, in the world of Holt Hyde (and their cousin, Heath Burns) often meant they’d incurred the wrath of a Creature through recklessness... and trying to reconcile that concept with his, er, twin, was giving the musically-inclined manster a headache.

Draculaura had ended up laughing so hard she actually fell off her seat.   
Finally managing to explain, between wheezy gasps, that ALL of Monster High had had to be sent home the previous afternoon; as some sort of freak power surge had caused chaos through the school. The vampire noticed the way Holt’s hand went to the small, portable iCoffin charger in his jacket pocket as she explained how the lights had exploded and power outlets became charred lumps of molten plastic. 

“It was quite dramatic,” she’d finished, an innocent smile spreading across her features. “Though nothing quite like the lift home I gave, well, you, and several of our fiends…”

“Aw, come on, Ula D!” Holt had said, natural charm cranked right up to eleven, when she’d left that tidbit just fanging between them without further ela-boo-ration. “Now you gotta tell me how it ends, ghoul.”

“Well...” she had sighed dramatically, suddenly realising her cousin Elissabat was not the only one in the family with acting talent. “...if you  _ insist _ .”

 

Which was, in part, why he was exploding through said grand-entrance of Monster High at current. Though naturally part of his charm and flair routine, wherein everyone tended to drop whatever they were doing to pay attention to the DJ manster the minute Holt Hyde’s presence became apparent; today was slightly different, because he looked somewhere between his mind being blown and a little freaked.

“You’re sure Ghoulia and my dork side said he couldn’t trace it back to them, right?” He asked again, possibly the fourth time since Draculaura had told him. “Because, if we all remember, that Sheriff guy happens to have a definitive lack of Chill when it comes to monsters. Specifically, me and Jacky-boy.”

“Yes, yes, like I said the last three times… they used all sorts of very technical things to make sure he could not work out who did it. How about we find Ghoulia, to ask?” she suggests, having scanned the corridor already and not seen a single one of their mutual fiend group. 

Several monsters they were on good terms with, and that was most of them to be honest, waved and greeted them separately or together. Draculaura surreptitiously checking for any sign of Spectra; she thought the world of the ghoul, but it would not do for Clawd’s overall health if she caught a picture of her and Holt Hyde together, and wrote another sensationally incorrect story about them as a _Them_. 

While it was unclear if either of the boos had inherited their father’s fire elemental abilities, despite their looks; she knew Holt could throw a punch with expert precision, and the pair had both speed and flexibility on their side. Though Clawd had natural speed, strength and biteological weaponry that came with being a werewolf; which was a definite advantage.  Draculaura stops in the hallway, blinking rapidly to clear her mind and wondering exactly why she seemed to have been orchestrating a mental battle between her werewolf boofiend and two of her closest fiends-slash-nightmarebours.

 

“Something bothering you, Ula D?” One of her mental-combatants-made-flesh asked her, having realised she was no longer wandering beside him and turned back. Eyes like a sunset-in-progress dashed all over her form, then back to her face; clearly noting that nothing on the outside was out of order, so she must have something weird going on upstairs.

She laughs, trying to push the odd thoughts right out of her head with the sheer force of her determination. “Oh, nothing to worry about… I just keep having really strange ideas, today. This morning I even yelled at the toaster for burning my breakfast… and then I apologised to it, because I felt bad for upsetting it.” Draculaura bites her lip, contemplatively, as they begin walking again. “On second thoughts, perhaps there is something wrong… with me!”

“Nah ghoul, you’re just compassionate and having a weird day, because of whatever happened yesterday.” He answers, surprisingly perceptively. Her face must show it, because he sighs, “Just because I have music going on all the time doesn’t mean I don’t listen, Ula D… Jacky-boy’s not the only smart cookie in this little family group.” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” The ghoul responds, slightly flustered.    
She absolutely hated hurting other people’s feelings; which is a sentiment that often got her way in over her head, while trying to please everyone all at once.

“Yeah you did, but it’s fine. Happens more often than you’d think… only Operetta really gets it.” He forestalls all upcoming questions of whether the two were a couple yet, by glancing at her from the corner of his eyes and asking innocently, “So… what was it you were thinking about?” 

 

She just about falls over backwards at the off-hand question, but is thankfully saved her inevitable collision with the tiled corridor floor, by the strong webbed hands of a passing Lagoona Blue. The pink vampire giggles when she realises that, to outside observers, it probably looked like she was being dipped by her _secret sea-monster ghoulfiend._

“Careful there mate, we nearly lost you to gravity!” Lagoona quips as she helps Draculaura upright. Looking quizzically at the shorter ghoul; eyebrow raised, as if to ask exactly what had startled her into keeling over. 

 

Mere feet away, Lagoona’s boofiend, and current corridor companion, Gil Webber, elbows Holt in the side.    
“Why didn’t  _ you _ catch her?” he questions, expression suspicious.

“Well, I was going to, but then I saw the one-and-only fintastic Lagoona Blue already had the save in the bag.” The Hyde replied, shrugging.    
To be fair, he had seen them coming up the hall in his peripheral vision by the time one Ula D began her descent. And, using a little of that usually-concealed super-intelligence, had already calculated that the speed at which Lagoona went from chatting with Gil, to running for Draculaura; meant the aerodynamic aqua-ghoul would get there first. So the DJ just got right on out of the way. 

The ghouls in this school could do anything better than the boos, and do it in heels, to boot.   
Everyone knew it.

 

“Oh, thank you, I don’t know what came over me.” Draculaura said, smiling up at Lagoona. “Thank you for saving me! My non-bruised face, and ego, would also like to add their appreciation.”

Swim Captain, and current School Swimming Champion-slash-Legend, Lagoona waves it off. “Psssh, don’t worry about it, Ula D. When a mate needs a hand, or a fin, you lend it no questions asked… it’s no big deal.”

“Oh but it is!” she insists. “Remind me, at lunch period, that I have an extra container of seaweed jelly in my locker, and it’s all yours!”

The tall, athletic sea-monster seemed torn. She hadn’t really done anything to warrant a reward… but on the other hand,  _ and you could see Draculaura understood her thought processes from the devious eyebrow wiggle she was doing while staring at her _ ,  Lagoona really,  _ really _ loved Seaweed Jelly. Not many stores in the area had it; predominantly because New Salem was stitchuated a couple of hours away from the nearest beach, which meant there weren’t a lot of other sea monsters nearby and therefore not a big local market for the hard-to-import delectable dessert. 

“Well…” Her objections to accepting the item were crumbling.

“No, I will not hear another excuse. You are going to have it!” Draculaura stated, adamantly. Of corpse, she wasn’t going to tell her ghoulfiend that the entire reason she had multiple desserts today was for the specific purpose of surprising Lagoona with it. This fortuitous event just gave her an opening in which to make the other accept it.

It was difficult to get under paranormal circumstances, especially on the wage the Coffin Bean allowed its casual employees. Whereas Draculaura had a nearly unlimited allowance with which to subtly spoil her fiends… and at current, the only thing the vampire both wanted and needed for herself, was the happiness of those around her.    
And maybe those new boots down at the Maul's new shoe store… they were simply to  _ un-die for _ .

 

“I-... well, alright. If you insist, mate, but I will find a way to return the favour.” Responded the Swim Captain, seriously. The Down Under attitude of reciprocity and equality never really left it’s inhabitants, no matter how long they unlived in other countries.

Draculaura’s devious grin grew wider as she waggled a finger at her aquamarine ghoulfiend. “Ah, ah, Ah! No you don’t… remember, this is a gift for stopping me from falling and hurting my pride,  _ and possibly my pert pink posterior _ . Now, no more of this nonsense. I will see you at lunch with the others.” 

So saying, she totters over to where Holt is standing by the fresh-water manster Lagoona was current-ly dating; that is, until she was not dating him  _ again _ , due to some silly argument the river-water boo would have with his wildly archaically-minded parents. It was getting very tiresome; and Lagoona’s fiends were getting fed up with watching her heart be broken over and over… therefore, though many of their group were cordial with him, none were overtly affectionate anymore.

 

With a wide grin and pseudo-friendly ‘Good Morning!’ at Gil, Draculaura linked an arm through the unsuspecting Hyde’s, and began to subtly drag him away. Heading in the opposite direction to the front entrance, in the hopes of finding someone else they knew;  like, say, Frankie Stein.    
The vampire still had high hopes that she would be able to match-make the pair… no, trio… back together; because, although she bore no ill-will towards Neighthan, he was not the one she wanted her lovely electrically-charged ghoulfiend with.  They were _ far  _ too alike. The first time the pair came across a door, they’d probably both attempt to hold it open for one another and spend all of eternity saying, ‘ _ No, no… after you! _ ’; which would be comical, but not sustainable.

Draculaura had unlived several centuries, and could always tell compatibility by watching monsters interact a few times. It was her unique thing; and also why she was so cool, temperamentally, towards Gil. There was potential, but only if he stepped up and reminded his parents which century it was they were currently existing in. And that was from the perspective of a ghoul whose very monster type tended to cling to tradition, and the old ways, with the same ferocity as a miser held onto greed-begotten wealth!

 

Behind the pair, Gil looked mildly confused at having had his confinsational partner so swiftly stolen from him; but Lagoona was laughing heartily, realising how well they’d all just been played. Draculaura only _looked_ small and innocent, but really, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Looks like she was getting seaweed jelly for lunch.    
But seriously, she needed to give the vampire ghoul something in return… did Draculaura need swimming lessons? Maybe she’d like one of Lagoona’s many fine inflatable pool toys… or something from the DEEP END of the school pool?

Lagoona would have to think about this.

 

Later, though. 

They had Swim Team Training first up this morning, as the pool was scheduled for routine cleaning that afternoon; and a multi-school competition next week to get everyone ready for. It was minor chaos, especially in contrast with how the previous day had gone.   
Without a word, she snags her boofiend by his sports jacket and jerks her head in the direction of a nearby corridor; it was better to get started sooner, than later, after all. 

  
  


Students fumbled about in the gloom, trying to get into lockers; the combinations difficult to input given the current circumstances. Students of the spectral, or fire-elemental kind, were the most popular at current; and their paranormal ability to illuminate, in great demand. 

Draculaura was fairly certain Heath would be spark-broken when the lights actually came back on; he seemed to be really enjoying the attention. Even if Abbey was hovering nearby, ready to put out any little explosions of over-excited flame production. He was still learning to control it, after all.

 

Beside her, Holt hummed innocuously along to whatever he was listening to, and occasionally said something to those they passed. A smile, a greeting, a wave; something small, but an open acknowledgement nonetheless. 

She suddenly realised that they had progressed rather deep into the main complex of corridors, and had yet to see a single other member of their fiendship group, apart from Lagoona and Gil. How odd.    
She could not recall Cleo mentioning morning fearleading practice, or Clawd telling her about additional casketball training scheduled for today. So where on earth could they be?

 

“So what were you thinking about?” Holt asks, turning towards her as they approached the fearnasium entrance, seemingly by complete accident. It did not appear he was going to drop this. “I mean, it has to be pretty interesting to send you floorward-bound at the very idea of explaining it, right ghoul?”

 

“I-...” Draculaura tries to think of the best way to phrase it. “For some reason I was trying to work out who would win in a fight… Clawd, or… you two.”

“Oh?” Well clearly going on the amused tone, this was something the blue boo was going to bring up at parties in future as a weird, fun story about the time Draculaura the Vegan Vampire got downright bloody-minded. “And was there a particular reason for it… or just for the hex of it?”

“Actually,” she brightens, tugging at their interlinked arms, “I was wondering how Clawd would react if Spectra had caught us in such a position without context, and wrote an article about it. Which led into a complex analysis of which of you boos would win a fight.”

 

“Oh, well when you put it like that, it makes purrfect sense.” Holt shrugs, having to halt as she missed a step in order to look up; eyes round with confusion.

“It does?” Literally nothing she’d said could have been considered para- _normal_ , under the circumstances; and here he was just accepting she’d mentally pitted them against a werewolf who was also a close fiend, for the sake of a hypothetical article the ghostly gossip would never write.

“Of corpse!” Holt gestures dismissively with his free hand. “For one, you didn’t finish your Fearappucino on the ride in so there’s clearly not enough caffiend in your system right now. And secondly, I share headspace… _and pretty much all other space_ … with an incredibly overly-imaginative nerd. That doesn’t even come close to falling under the ‘odd’ category… it’s just a weird thought that happens, Ula D.” 

He grins, “Sometimes you just gotta…” 

She could sense it coming but had no way to stop it, except to groan as he finished with, “...Let It Go.”

 

“Okay, if Clawd were here I would MAKE him fight you for using that reference.” Draculaura informed the rather-proud-of-himself party manster. It did not wipe the grin off his face, whatsoever. Frustrating, but realistically, what could you do?

He seemed about to reply, when a strange crackling, an almost ominous buzzing filled the air. Like the precursor to a lightning strike. Students everywhere paused, listening intensely for the source of the strange sound.

 

Overhead, the buzz rang out again, accompanied by an almost imperceptible flicker of light that ceased a millsecond after it began. New bulbs struggled to awaken and fulfill their purpose, as the grid reasserted itself once more.

A flash.

Two.

Several in succession as the buzz grew louder… and finally, the lights flickered on fully into glorious unlife; heralded by the delighted cheers of students and staff at being able to see again. Everyone simultaneously blinded in that instant, and utterly besides themselves with joy about it.

The echoes of adulation reverberated about the corridors, drowning out a small disappointed sigh from one fire elemental boo, as everyone blinked rapidly to clear their vision. Many shedding additional layers of clothing, suddenly claiming the chill had been chased away almost immediately; along with the gloom. 

 

“It’s like summer in the desert,” Gigi Grant sighed wistfully to Cleo de Nile, as they passed by; faces turned up to the lights. Giving a distracted wave of acknowledgement, to those about them.

It was true. 

Even Holt was beginning to feel too warm; and somewhere down the hall, Heath’s voice raised in alarm. 

 

Suddenly, with an angry POP, the lights go out again; to a school-wide groan of disappointment. 

Nearby, Draculaura could just hear Gigi asking Cleo if she was alright… and if she could stop squeezing the Djinn’s arm so tight. She stifled a laugh; her Mummy ghoulfiend’s severe clawstrophobia was no joke, of corpse. Though it was a little bit awfully amusing when it came up accidentally, around those who had no idea why the sudden darkness of a power-outage could mean having cleo cling to them like a startled cat.

 

“So much for that, huh?” Says the person still attached to her, via interlinked arms, that she had almost completely forgotten about. Blinking rapidly to hasten the return of her ability to perceive other people in the darkness, Draculaura could almost make out the details and features of the boo.

When without warning,  the lights snapped back on again, somehow brighter than before; to the cautious excitement of many.

 

But in seconds, it became apparent something had gone very, very wrong… when the cheers died out, and the screaming began.

 

-)0(-


	9. Total Eclipse of the Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISASTER STRIKES!

Time froze.

Uncomprehending eyes observing the scene, unable to fully process the tableau laid out before them. It was simply too terrible a concept to consider.

 

Bobbing gently on the current of the wind, a familiar ghostly vessel glided past the stricken ghoul aimlessly; almost as if searching for it’s missing mistress amongst those who wandered by, entirely unaware of observation. The familiar surfaces devoid of any indication as to where the currently unaccounted for, River Styxx, might be found.

Everything was as it should be.   
Nothing was out of place or damaged; it seemed almost as if the Grim Reaper in training had simply left the deck mid-voyage. Wandering away from a vessel she loved more than unlife;  _ although Vandala often claimed she loved her creaky old ghost pirate ship, the  _ Salty Spectre,  _ to a greater degree _ .

Spectra’s smile was thin; lips compressed so tight it hurt, as she recalled many an evenings’ worth of arguments around that sole subject. All in fun, but still… they had held an edge of truth. Neither would just allow their crafts to slip away unnoticed and unattended; abandoned... unless no other choice for continued survival existed.

This… 

This was terrifying.

 

The vessel had made it’s way to the normie shopping district; the few cars  and pedestrians about at this time, did not see it as they passed by, or through the ship. In the same manner that they saw not the sleep-wear clad Spectra staring forlornly at the last remnant of her fiend, as it floated on down the street, and through a shoe shop. 

Instinct whispered she go and take command of the vessel; but the reality was that she simply did not know enough about sailing in general, let alone the specifics of a Reaper boat, to single-handedly return it home. No, that was not a course of action available to her at current.

Instead, she whips out her iCoffin and rapidly types a message to ‘ _ Home Group _ ’, detailing the specifics of her current location and the necessity for Vandala to get here swiftly; before the boat made it out of town. Years of article-writing had made Spectra adept at completing a rather incredible degree of infearmation-imparting in only a short space of time.

Tapping Send, impatiently, the Journalistically-inclined ghoul turned away from where the boat seemed to be heading; staring instead, back along the direct path it had taken to reach this point. She slowly begins to move in that direction, idly documenting her movements via iCoffin, so that the others could find her when they arrived.

 

She slipped through a small boutique, and the Bakery it backed onto; across a road, another small laneway with empty lots to either side, and then through a series of houses. Some occupied by still-sleeping or semi-mobile humans in various states of consciousness; others empty, though filled with evidence of inhabitants currently elsewhere. Nothing could be found in any, to suggest that the sudden appearance of a ghost ship through the buildings, at some point in the last few hours, had caused any major concerns or calamities.

Well, it was a minor miracle.

Few normies could see ghosts, but sometimes in the right light or circumstance, ghost ships were rather difficult to miss. Especially for the incredibly sensitive to the supernatural, or those in altered states of consciousness; which is why the half-awake, and intoxicated, often remark upon things other humans will scoff at; studiously claiming it is merely their addled imagination playing tricks. 

 

But no sign or suggestion of the elusive Grim River.

 

Actually, there seemed to be no sign of anything, for several streets; it felt quite a long way for the unwomanstered ethereal voyager to have travelled. 

Finally, Spectra came across a semi-familiar street, and paused; luminous eyes widening at the sudden sprawling appearance of… scrawlings all over the walls and walkways. Her first thought flared red, hot and angry; perhaps this was Porter’s idea of a joke… something River was in on; a conspiracy to… to what, though?

The irrational idea slips away, leaving an embarrassed sense of discomfort in its wake. Of corpse they would never treat something so serious as a joke; though light-hearted and mischievously-spirited, River and Porter would not place others in peril for the sake of a well-executed prank. Which left the conclusion that the copious amount of half-formed squiggles laying upon the ground were clearly indicative of some form of foul play… 

 

Symbols.

She didn’t know why, but for some reason the word rose murkily to the forefront of her mind; dredged from memories that were alien, invisible and unreachable to her under paranormal circumstances. Spectra felt a dizzying pulse fill her entire being at the thought. 

Symbols.

Something about them was violently familiar; it was making her feel ill just gazing too long at the markings. Many hastily, sloppily executed by those who did not have the finesse with a spray can that her boofiend achieved effortlessly. Many were too blobby, or obscure; lacing the road, the walls of buildings, the pavement and even a lightpole or two. It was as confusing as one might expect; there seemed to be a pattern here she had yet to discern. Though the placing of each one, misshapen otherwise, was indicating something very important; something that pinged with a long-buried memory at the back of Spectra's mind, demanding she stare harder, longer. Discern that which was diligently coated over for reasons she did not recall; for what may very well be the key to saving her fiend’s unlife.

But nothing came.

 

Well, except a rather vicious headache that stubbornly clung onto a point just behind her eyes; throbbing relentlessly with every passing second. Her iCoffin was a never-ending sea of notifications pinging, demanding the ghostly gossip remain stationary while the rest of their shared household came running to the rescue. It was.. comical really.

And then the thought strikes that, just because Spectra could not recall the meaning of the symbols… does not mean someone else incapable of seeing what she was missing here. The spectral ghoul pulling out her iCoffin and, striking away the message screen with it’s many insistent chimes for attention, began to take photos. 

From a distance she take the scene in it’s entirety; surfaces coated with thickly indecipherable patterns of symbols and markings. Then close-up, Spectra carefully catalogues each mark in a tedious, torturously slow process that made her wish for Gigi’s presence. The Djinn would have been only too pleased to answer Spectra’s wish for a more expedient way to do this particular task.

She hovers from one mark to another for how long, she could not say exactly; until a hand touching her shoulder makes the ghoul practically leap out of her skin. The other backs off, hands raised high in a non-threatening gesture; expression caught betwixt startled and apologetic.

“Sorry,” comes the sheepish apology, “I thought you’d heard me call out to you.”

 

Gaining a foothold on her nerves, feeling them echo off into the bowels of her hidden memories somewhere dark she did not wish to tread; Spectra sighs, honestly relieved that it was only Porter, and nothing more sinister. It was nice not to be alone, too. 

“Vandala should be here any minute, we split apart so I could come and get you while she wrangled River’s boat back on course. I offered to help of corpse, but she just burst into this raucous laughter that I’m still trying not to take as an insult…”the Paintergeist scowls good-naturedly, wrinkling his nose. He looked adorably young whenever he did that; but should the ghostly ghoul ever tell him so, she feared he might cease doing it altogether.

Instead she drew his attention to the symbols.

“They’re all over the place,” Spectra gestures in a wide circle about them, trying to encompass the sheer magnitude of just how many markings were laid about them. “I took pictures of, I think maybe all of them, but I cannot be entirely certain, given how numerous they are.”

She does not say that they seem familiar; and yet, also does not entirely comprehend why she feels this infearmation need be kept hidden even from her own, incredibly supportive and understanding, boofiend. It feels like a strong negative emotion is blocking it out… something beyond shame, or guilt, or fear.

Like a very important untruth would fall apart should she say a word to Porter of what her thoughts were trying to rediscover. Like… _ she _ … would fall apart if whatever it was, became known.

 

Flashes of symbols filled her mind. 

_ Glowing… burning… screaming… loss. She didn’t understand, and it made the headache all the worse for her confusion. It was powerful, surging over her memories… or what she had assumed them to be, to deposit the impression of incredible danger in Spectra’s thoughts. _

_ No. No, this can’t be right… she had a, a happy monster childhood with her parents in the Ghost World. Yes, that was true… or most of it was… _ _   
_ _ They’d let her move here, to board at Monster High, because they thought it was a better opportunity for their daughter, right? That… that had to be… right.  _

_ Why were these awful thoughts trying to tear apart her happy memories? _ _   
_ _ Why did they whisper that these delightful times were nothing but fanciful falsehoods created by a broken mind? _

 

“-ectra? SPECTRA!” 

The fear in that familiar tone cleaves through the confusion, the all-encompassing panic clouding her mind; and she blinks back to herself. To reality.

Porter’s eyes are inches from hers, worry shining in their depths; as his hands tried to coax her own free from where they tangled, terrifyingly tight, in her deep violet locks. And when had they twisted so sharply in her own hair? Spectra simply did not know. Nor the why of it.

He was repeating things, over and over, gentle words and soothing phrases; trying to keep her calm as his nimble green fingers intervened, freeing her own from the mass of hair they desperately ensnared. His soothing tone too difficult to focus upon directly; but still acted as a catalyst that somehow allowed her tensed body to gradually relax, inch by inch,  from it’s fight-or-flight state.

 

“I’m sorry.” Spectra choked out, when words became available. Wanting very much to curl into his embrace and have the world be okay again, but feeling as if her skin could not bear the touch of another just yet. She needed more time.

“It’s okay.” He responded simply. Eyes locked to hers, and sincere; hands hovering, but no longer touching, now her own were released from their purple purgatory. “It’s okay.”

 

Certainly, it did not feel that way… but she trusted him. 

“The symbols…” she tried, clawing tentatively for the remnants of the half-memories that had paralysed her a moment before. “I don’t-... something about the symbols is familiar. They’re dangerous… so, so dangerous, and yet not a single reason why comes to mind. Just the feeling of a feeling.” She let out a tired laugh. “I suppose you could say it’s a  _ ghost _ of an emotion.”

Her hands seem oddly devoid of something, and he places the iCoffin she must have dropped into them. It is intact, and whole; pictures still showing on the screen. Her luminescent fingers tracing the little curves and lines of the captured symbols.

 

“Porter…” she says, suddenly and on a whim. “I… am afraid.”

Before he can say anything in response to such an odd admission, the ghostly gossip continues. “I am afraid that… everything I recall, is a lie I told myself… and that it’s coming back. These symbols… just looking at them… and what if, what if you don’t like who I really am?”

 

Porter just hovers a little closer, “Hey, we’ll work it out, alright? You’re not alone in this… and whatever we find out, won’t make me like you any less, Spectra. Never doubt that; because you’re fangtastic and I love you, nothing you could ever do, or have ever done, would make me change my position on that.”

It was not the scarytale cure-all, when she moved closer and briefly pressed their lips together before sliding arms about his neck in a request for comfort; but it did make the ghoul feel a little… lighter. Safer. 

  
  


‘Ahoy! If ye be done with all of that mushy-mess, perhaps you’d care to come aboard?” shouts Vandala, breaking the moment. Little do the pair realise she’d been hovering subtly around the corner for nearly five minutes, awaiting the perfect opening to get their attention. She simply acts cavalierly, as if the pirate ghoul had only just appeared and had no time for this unnautical, romantic nonsense. 

Porter keeps a comforting arm over Spectra’s shoulder as they hover up and onto the boat’s deck; looking to Vandala with hopeful expressions. As if she may have located some evidence to River’s current location, that the other two had missed.

“Afraid not, m‘hearties. Wherever River went, it was in a hurry; didn’t even free up the rudder for solo flight; that’s why it went in a straight line thataways,” she indicates helpfully. “But nothing aboard seems to explain where she might’ve gone, or why.”

 

“All we found were some symbols,” Porter adds, leaning over the rail to indicate as they passed by… and nearly falling headfirst over the edge as the boat shudders. momentarily.

Directly underneath, a ovaltine ring of symbols glowed in response to the vessel’s presence; partially-activating, despite the power of the symbols’ spell already having been broken by an easily-identified smudged character to the starboard side. It was the only one not currently glowing.

 

Anger and horror radiated throughout Vandala’s trembling tone as the reality of it struck her full-on. “It was a trap…”    
She stamped her ornately-carved peg-leg in fury, “It was a TRAP for one of us to fall into, and I let River go out sailing alone last night.” She seemed angry at both herself, and the initiators of this sadistic scheme. “Where the blue-blazing barnacles did they stow her? I’ll kill them all!”

 

Porter approached cautiously. “Vandala… if you’d been out here last night, whoever stole her… would have managed to take you too, using some other kind of symbol-trick to trap the  _ Salty Spectre _ in place. We’d have had no chance of rescuing River, with you gone as well!”

Somewhat petulantly, Vandala concedes the point with an, “Aye.”

Had her cuttlefish been present, there would have been an echoing ‘Nay’ to the confinsation. Though, he was still in the Ghost World, which was somewhat unfortunate but their boarding house did not allow pets at current. 

 

Oh, right. Home Group.

Spectra suddenly recalls the rest of the search party is out looking right now, and turns to look at Porter; eyes asking the question before it can form on her lips. He shakes his head in response; watching Vandala from the corner of his eyes, as the ghost pirate uses River’s long gondola pole to scratch at a few more of the symbols.

The Reaper boat judders free, into an easy glide; and Vandala womanster’s the tiller. Aiming them towards the just-visible Monster High, which was a poignant landmark on the route to the small share building they unlived in; on the outlier of its vast grounds.

 

“I maybe told the others to go get ready for school, and we’d call them if we found anything while coming to get you.” Porter explains, expression practically begging his ghoulfiend for some sort of endorsement, or sign that his decision had been the correct one. “I mean, if River’s boat was out this way then, why look in the other areas… right?”

Spectra pats his hand, reassuringly. “Strategically, it was the only option.”

His face still falls as he verbalises what they were all thinking, “But we didn’t find her.”

 

“Maybe not, matey… but she’s bound to be about here somewhere, we’ll find her eventually.” Vandala interjects, hopefully. Wind pulling at her shock of seaspray hair, and surprisingly pirate-themed sleepwear. She confeardently steered the ship back towards the familiar harbour of Monster High; pale pink eyes focused ahead, deliberately not looking behind.

Porter and Spectra decided, if only for the length of the journey, to follow her example. Let the gentle motions of the vessel’s movements lull worry from their minds. Be at peace again, if only for a moment… and enjoy the rare sensation while it lasted; for all felt something deeply malevolent awaiting on the horizon. Though none had the words to voice the feeling aloud.

 

So caught up betwixt this sensation of careless, blissful freedom brought on by the short voyage, and the endless freefall fear of what seemed to be rapidly appraoching; that none of them realised one among them was missing.

That another of their number was gone…

 

...that in a flash of light, that faded as swiftly as her scream; Kiyomi Haunterly, became just another name to add to the list of missing monsters.

 

-)0(-

  
  


“Hello? Anybody there?” comes the twang of a southern belle, echoing through the catacombs’ many interrelated corridors. Followed swiftly by Operetta herself, lit torch in hand to illuminate the gloom, and a hand on her hip that screamed she was  _ not _ down for any shenanigans today.

She could have sworn something had made a heck of a bang just before, while they’d been playing; but maybe it’d just been another case of ancient brickwork falling free of its moorings. Happened periodically throughout the week. Nothing to be worrying about.

And yet, for some reason… it hadn’t sounded right to her.

 

When you were the only and only daughter of the  _ Phantom of the _ goshdarn _ Opera _ , you were sort of born with an ear able to discern the slightest variation in pitch and tone; which was great for playing, and singing, of corpse… but had the unintended bonus of being auditorily sensitive enough to tell when people were tromping through the catacombs unannounced. Unless she was, y’know, overtired or something to that extent.

Say, if the musical ghoul had been awake for several long hours trying to study for a big old Musical Theory exam, that was all set to  rear its ugly head directly after lunch today. Theoretically, she was damn good at anything musical; but on the other appendage, you could never be too careful when you had a crotchety old Siren for a teacher -  _ who was notorious for throwing in trick questions, and forty-page exams, just to test your mettle _ . 

 

Logically, the lilac ghoul knew it was probably just some couple, _or mayhaps a few more monsters_ , sneaking down to do things they rightfully shouldn’t in an educational establishment. It wasn’t as if these walls hadn’t heard of such sneaky debauchery in the past. Not  _ all _ of it entirely due to Operetta’s occupation, either.

 

“Alright, hide in the shadows if you want… but I’m gonna go back to practicing my newest song in a minute;  and we all know what happens if you hear it. Might take me a good thirty seconds to get back to my beautiful organ, so make good on it, you hear?” Operetta passive-aggressively warns into the darkness.

She wasn’t really going to be singing; the phantom-astic ghoul happened to have some rather gore-geous company at current. The kind that she’d prefer remained in total control of their fear-culties.; so they could help her lose hers, in the long run. 

But she couldn’t very well go about shouting something of that caliber into the darkness, now, could she?

 

Well, with nodeadbody owning up to skittering about in the dark, damp passageways she called her home away from home; Operetta decided to toss in the towel on this little ‘rescue mission’ of sorts. If anybody was fool enough to run about down here after such a proclamation from the Phantom’s star pupil, whose voice was famed with driving even the sturdiest of monsters mildly  mad for unpredictable periods of time; then so be it. Their fates rested within their own hands, claws, paws, tentacles or whatever-else-have-you they possessed.

After all, just ‘corpse she wasn’t gonna be singing; didn’t mean the shamelessly self-confeardent ghoul wasn’t going to be making some sweet music in the near future. Whatever the interlopers saw from this point on… well, that was on their own heads now, wasn’t it?

 

Speaking of her musically-gifted compatriot, where had the boo gotten to?   
Their jam session had been utterly disturbed by the strange sounds that had echoed into her personal underground amphitheatre; causing enough of a distraction that Operetta had sighed, removed her hands from the keys, and suggested they go find whoever was making the racket. Else no one was going to have a  _ fire-elemental’s chance in a swimming pool _ , of getting back their rhythm before it was time for class to begin.

And a day where she couldn’t start out with, at the very least, a song… was one that everyone about the songstress would rue. It was the metaphorical way Operetta charged up for the day; not unlike Frankie’s wake-up volts, or how Ghoulia liked to down a practical vat of caffiend in the mornings, to really put the pep in her zombie step. 

And someone was being rude enough to interrupt it.

 

Her usual guest-slash-current partner, one Johnny Spirit, had just sort of followed along behind originally; until a division of catacomb corridors had seen them separate in search of the music-interrupting miscreants ruining their morning. Alright, purrhaps that was a tad harsh; but she needed to mellow out today, before the big test, or something embarrassing might happen because the ghoul was strung out. 

Last time… there’d been this Home Eek final, and maybe things weren’t working out real well for her because she’d been stressing all night long over it; and therefore missed all opportunities to play a little something, in order to soothe her frazzled mind. So by the time the period for the big baking showdown-slash-final examination rolled around, the spectral songstress was a big old ball of nerves.    
Long story short, there now existed a large scorch mark on the ceiling in the exact shape of Mrs Kindergrubber’s surprised face… and Operetta was no longer allowed to take Home Eek as an elective. A story she loved to wheel on out at parties, often just before offering to make some sort of dish to bring to the next one. Delighting in watching everyone glance this way and that, subtle-like, making brief eye-contact with one another; all silently attempting to work out who would have the unwanted honour of awkweirdly trying to dissuade her from such a potentially hazardous undertaking… without hurting Operetta’s feelings.

She’d gotten real good at tearing up on command. They usually got so flustered when she did, Operetta often questions why her Drama Creature didn’t just award her full points on her acting, then and there.

Maybe it was a little sadistic… in retrospect. But as her parents always told her, you gotta enjoy the little things; make any werekatastrophe work for you.

 

Absently, her mind running through a brief display of some of the best ‘ _ please-don’t-cook-anything-we-all-want-to-unlive-through-this _ ’ speeches she had even been on the receiving end of as a result; Operetta makes her way back towards the junction where she’d last lost sight of Johnny’s glow. Frowning at the absence of sound coming from the corridor he’d taken. 

The boo had been calling out to the potential lurkers, same as Operetta, last she’d heard; albeit with a much more threatening aftertaste to his ‘encouragement’ for trespassers to beat a hasty retreat, than the musically-gifted ghoul’s original entreaties. And even in the lull between each call, Johnny’d been humming a new little piece that he and Holt had been working on for an assignment. 

Like an odd sort of reverse-echolocation. He was letting her know where he was, down here in the dark; so neither of them lost touch for too long by accident. Operetta was still a tad too solidly-minded to do the whole ghosting-through-walls thing the others of spectral lineage at the school seemed to have mastered; but she was getting there. 

Only Scarah Screams, of all the others, really understood how it felt. The Banshee having the same issue when it came to phasing through things; which made getting lost a lot more tedious for the both of them. Their parents often repeated to the exasperated ghouls that it was just because they’d unlived among ‘Solids’ for so long, they’d begun to think like them; and the ability would come in time.

 

Well, right now Operetta wished her magical phantom-side could activate a little faster, because suddenly she wanted nothing more than to find this boofiend of hers and make sure nothing was wrong. Something just… something about the silence, all-pervasive as it was, it didn’t  _ sit right _ in her gut. Like something was very, very wrong.

Everything seemed, all of a sudden, ridiculously big and utterly packed to the brim with a silence so thick, it could give molasses a run for it’s money. Operetta had never before felt like this; there’d simply never come a time when these twisting corridors and secret rooms hadn’t felt like home to the ghoul. Until now.

 

“Johnny?” she hollered, feet picking up the pace as she neared the split in the corridors where they’d parted. “JOHNNY?”

If this was a prank, he’d definitely be paying for it later on.   
By all of Deuce and Cleo’s gods combined, she hoped this was just a joke made in bad-taste… 

A cold, sick, heavy feeling began to curl in her innards; weighing down the ghoul’s ability to move at anything beyond a tenuous jog. Her legs felt like they amounted to a thousand pounds apiece, and each step took an eternity. Her mind whispered to just… stop, a moment. Just… rest, a second. 

No need to do anything rash, like run about in the darkness.   
She scowled, the very concept leaving an acidic, unpleasant taste on her tongue. Though, it had to be said that despite the cowardice implied in the thoughts; they came from a place not born of self-preservation, but instead of worry.

What if she didn’t find him down there?   
And what if she did, but not in the manner in which the ghoul had left the rebellious boo?    
There were so many unknowns to this scream-nario, and it made her want to cry aloud this heaving, roiling mess of emotions that seemed to thrum through the deceptively-lithe, lilac form. She felt everything, all at once.

And she felt nothing, even more strongly.

As if everything within had become static, an overwhelming white noise that was screened out in the face of what needed doing. Tingling through every pore as if her entire body was reawakening with newfound purpose. 

  
  


The entrance to the alternate tunnel seemed such a large, gaping maw of darkness, despite the blazing beacon in her hand. When, exactly, had Operetta become so… afraid?

 

_ ‘When something finally came into your unlife that would utterly destroy you to lose,’ _ answered her mind, entirely unhelpfully. 

  
  


**_She couldn’t hear him humming._ **

 

The darkness gaped at her, the pounding of her heart growing until it blocked out all else in her mind.

 

**_She couldn’t… hear him humming._ **

 

Wait… that wasn’t a heartbeat.. it was chanting. It grew louder and louder, echoing off the stone tunnel walls until nothing could be discerned; words felt as the rippled through the body like physical blows.

 

**_She couldn’t… hear him._ **

 

Something tugged at her very essence; prickling needles hooked into her skin and demanded she move towards the sound. Operetta resisted as best she could… 

... _ and then she heard him scream. _

  
  


It was brief, agonised, and over in only a few precious seconds… but she would never forget it. Not as long as the ghoul unlived. 

Already the sound rattled about her mind, a never-ending cry that would haunt her nightmares for years to come. In all the time they’d been together, he’d never made a sound like that before; and it shook Operetta to her core. Her hands started to tremble, but she ignored them obstinately. There’d be time for that sort of nonsense later on; when the edgy blue boo, Johnny Spirit, was back safe and sound with his loud, lilac diva of a ghoulfiend.

 

The first attempt at words, following the cessation of his scream, amounted to nothing more than silence. Honestly, it made Operetta furious. This absolute  _ betrayal _ from her own body, in a stitchuation as serious as this?   
She was a strong ghoul that needed to go rescue her manster, and for some reason  _ now _ was the time her infamous voice, and plucky attitude, chose to utterly abandon her?

If there really was some sort of deity that presided over Fate, or Irony… Operetta was going to hunt them down, and give ‘em  _ a swift kick in the throat  _ for this. Maybe two.

 

“J-Johnny?” she finally managed.   
And it was like the passcode to unlocking all her other paralysed functions; legs finally beginning to move of their own accord. First walking, and then, somehow changing to sprinting towards where the chanting had died away. 

“Johnny?!” she called again, straining for any response. Maybe he’d just missed the first few calls because the handsome idiot of a boo was focused on fixing his hair  _ just righ _ t in the tiny pocket-mirror they both pretended he didn’t own, or  maybe he was sitting in the middle of a wall, composing a new song. Which he did sometimes; apparently it was easier to think that way. She wouldn’t know.

 

_ Let him be alright, so I can unkill him myself for scaring me… _ she prayed fervently to whoever was out there and listening in on her thoughts.  _ Just let him be okay _ .

It was all she’d ever ask for. 

_ Don’t be stingy with the miracles, now, or I’ll have to come up there.  _ Operetta also thought, rather vindictively; eyes flicking to the ceiling, though she knew it was ridiculous and entirely unhelpful at the time. It just felt better to toss the blame in someone else’s corner for a minute.

 

Halfway down the tunnel, or so she assumed; something slick caught her boot and sent the ghoul careening into a wall at speeds she hadn’t reached since the last Skulltimate Rollermaze match. It had been against the werewolf boarding school… whatever the heck their moon-related name was; and Monster High had only won by the barest minimum thanks to Operetta’s last-minute heroics. 

It was an odd thing to think about all of a sudden, in circumstances such as these; but Operetta just assumed it was how her mind had decided to cope with the stitchuation she now found herself mired in. Predominantly, with obstinate denial that anything could be wrong, until proven otherwise. 

Only brief movement and the flashes of discomfort they wrought, dragged Operetta out of her seemingly random recollections. The songstress could already feel the dull ache of impact radiating out, as heat and pain, in various areas of her form. A significant swathe of her body was going to bruise something awful, if she made it out of this. Just wonderful.

Righting herself against the sturdy bricks of the tunnel wall, Operetta swept the torch down towards the floor in hopes of working out exactly what it was that had caused the impromptu slip’n’slide _ -or more accurately, ghost’n’glide- _ action. Glowing blue liquid shrank back from the orangey glow of her torch, and Operetta recoiled in horror at the realisation of exactly what she was seeing with her own two eyes.

 

Ectoplasm. 

Johnny’s to be exact, going on the colouration.

Same as his glow.

 

Mentally shoving aside the need to be sick, and trying desperately not to think about what it might mean; she looked about the area, blazing flames illuminating floor, wall and ceiling alike. Revealing a myriad of odd markings, seemingly painted on by someone in a right old hurry; as many of the squiggles and lines were leaking. Some outright dripping, and others taking their time in slowly trickling down the brickwork walls. 

Daring to look down again, she noticed something she hadn’t before and just about burst into tears from relief. Right in the middle of the glowy, blue goop that signified something downright terrible had happened to her boofiend here; was a small circular patch of clear floor, showing something had been lifted off of it.

Now, the size suggested it belonged to the base of a bottle of some sort… which made everything a lot more hopeful all of a sudden. 

See, Ghosts can phase through most things quite fine; but you get some rash normie with access to ScreeBay and WikiHowl’s infamous ‘How to Capture a Ghost’ Tutorial… things tend to go south real fast. Normal bottles won’t hold onto a spirit for long; but if you use the right incantation and something bottle-like that’s been blessed by a holy person of any given religion, then you had yourself a bonafide spectral trap. 

The good thing about it, despite evidence to the contrary; was that this meant whichever unfortunate spirit was being forced into the object, had only shed ectoplasm in order to get in the bottle, as commanded. In a process a little bit like boiling a sauce, to reduce it, the main part was stored in the bottle and some excess ended up stuck to the pan. But not the important bots, thankfully. No exorcisms here today. 

She clung to that thought… no exorcisms. He was okay, wherever he was now.

 

Just as Operetta is mentally negating all mental threats to various deities, given the sudden upturn of an almightily terrible stitchuation; it strikes that whoever had done the deed was probably still in the vicinity. And although she really wanted to track them down and give them a piece of her mind… it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to try solo.

 

The Skulltimate Rollermaze champion was going to have to go and get some reinforcements to win this battle. But make no mistake, she was going to come back, save her boofiend and beat the everloving tar out of whoever dared make him cry out in such anguish. 

Haltingly, she turned away from the scene and began to run for the alcove-turned-amphitheatre she called home; legs not ceasing movement until they made it to the large room. Huffing ragged breaths, an unfortunate remnant necessity of being half-human, Operetta immediately turns sharply to the left; dashing up the first long flight of stairs towards the school.  The one that would land her closest to Headless Headmistress Bloodgood’s office.

 

Pain lances through her lungs and legs, but she ignores it. Instead, choosing to focus on just how close that door is getting. Treating the plain wooden thing like a hallowed treasure that she was desperate to reach before time ran out. Almost falling off the staircase as the odd thought of her, Operetta Phantom, being some sort of high-school version of  _ Sindiana Jones  _ on a whirlwind adventure, enters her mind.

It distracted her mind enough that her tired, overstressed body could manage those last few steps without the ghoul screaming in physical discomfort. Operetta damn near cried at the sight of the doorway before her… why had she never appreciated how beautiful it was, before now?

 

_ Find Bloodgood _ . Her mind chanted as she reached for the door.  _ Tell her about Johnny, and then cry if you still gotta; no one needs to be strong all the time, ghoul. But get help first.  _ _   
_ _ He’s counting on you to.  _

Her slender, musician’s fingers wrap about the doorknob with determination; mentally chanting her plan of action over and over again. She can’t forget, Johnny needed help and this ghoul was going to get it for him even if it meant moving heaven and earth to do so.

 

Finally yanking open the ancient door, Operetta took one determined step out of the door... and froze in horror as the sudden onslaught of screaming, wailing and suffering washed all coherent thought from her mind. If she’d thought things were bad in the catacombs…  _ this _ , this  was a billion times worse.

She hesitated; still hell-bent on finding the Principal and getting help for her missing-in-action boofiend, from whatever fate had befallen him. But the absolute chaos swirling through the corridors, as students with no idea what they were doing tried to apply fierce-st aid to wailing classmates, or comfort those who merely shuddered in silence from some unknown attack; tugged at her heart, demanding a shift in Operetta’s priorities.

After a second, and even though it broke her heart to do so, the lilac songstress put all thoughts of Johnny aside; diving into the fray headfirst and without further hesitation.    
_ These monsters could be helped in the here and now _ , she told herself,  _ they took priority _ .

In seconds, the older ghoul had forcefully taken command of a small group of frightened freshmen, simply by sounding the most authoritative and in-the-know about how to respond to… whatever had happened. Sending them rapidly running in all directions for supplies, whilst reassuring the closest incapacitated that all was fine; Operetta was going to bandage up whatever ached the worst,  _ and then feed who or whatever had done this to them, her infamous cooking _ . Her harshest punishment.

 

Johnny… she was sure that wherever he was right now; he’d be fine for another ten minutes while she helped these kids. He had to be. 

She was counting on it.

  
  



	10. The Walking Damaged

Everything was… cold, disorienting. 

Nothing was where it normally would, or should, be. 

Up and down simply did not exist in this place; if it was a place. Indeed it felt more like a void in reality that held firm to its captive, keeping her firmly held in place by invisible tethers that had no texture.

 

Time was nothing.    
At least, here it was nothing more than a fallacy told to categorise each momentary nothing, from another identical measurement of the same. It had no meaning in this place.    
Everything began and ended, and nothing did either; or perhaps, both occurred simultaneously.

She did not know. Would she? Had she once?

She was not sure. Had she ever been? Would it come to her later, should Later even plausibly exist?

  
  


Sometimes, a voice would demand something.

Other times, there was oppressive silence. She did not think much of it, nor much of anything; and somehow knew without knowing, that this too, was the workings of her prison. 

Was it a prison? She did not know.   
She could not recall doing something heinous enough to warrant incarceration, but then again, she did not exactly remember anything of her existence prior to… this. The soft, gentle, restrictive void that leeched away memories and pain as one. 

Her questions danced before her eyes, and faded; subsumed by this place. The comforting, terrifying, everything… a muted mixture of greys and whites that danced at the edges of her vision. Keeping her aware, though docile. 

Whatever this was… wherever this was, it was designed for her; and only her.    
Sometimes she felt compelled to respond to a loud voice that thundered through this hollow place; but there was no energy for it. There was no energy for anything, really. 

Everything was simply… there.   
And it was fine as it was, without needing her interference.  Or so the void whispered.

Slowly… everything became unnecessary. Everything she was felt… distant, and unimportant; like it hardly mattered anymore. The person that had been forced into-... no, entered, right?

She had entered this place, of her own free will?

N-... no. 

 

No?

 

NO.

 

No, she hadn’t. This was not her choice!

A flash of her true self blazes through the near unresponsive body, awakening what remained of the ghoul within; she reached for whatever was left, and clung to it. Trying with everything in herself to recall what had happened; why this torment was being borne so complacently. What crime she must have committed to earn it.

 

And the answer… was none.

 

The answer… was that this had been forced upon her; this void made her prison in an ambush that had left her dizzy from confusion, and utterly vulnerable to the oppressive spellcasting of many angry voices. It made no sense.

It made perfect sense.

The paradox hurt her mind to think of.

 

Something about an ambush, and lights. A scream of her own that had been drowned out by chanting; and then this. Cold, confusion, loss of self.   
The how, and why, of it were lost to the ghoul; but the rage she felt at the tactics of her attackers, was not.

Gaining movement and momentum with the return of a lucid clarity, she bound her rage into action, and shouted her displeasure into the void. Finding herself almost immediately frustrated to have heard nothing burst from frozen lips. Or had that just been the void itself?

 

Straining, she could hear vague things.   
With painstaking effort, her unseen eyes perceived shapes.

To mind flooded the concept that she could not make out any specific details, because this was not a scene upon which she had been commanded to scry. This was rebellion.

 

Good. 

Whatever this place was. Whatever had been done to her before now… it was not who she was. This was not the world in which… Kiyomi,  _ her name was Kiyomi _ … belonged.

Gathering up what little strength remained inside, outside the soul-sucking influence of this pocket dimension, Kiyomi screamed. Rewarded only with the fleeting vision of a horrified blue face, and the sound of glass shattering… before everything faded to obscurity once more.   
  


-)0(-

 

Disheartened search party members, dressed in their usual freaky-fab fashions and vaguely ready for another gruelling day of school, found themselves utterly paralysed within the main entrance of Monster High. Despite the chaos of that morning’s impromptu search-and-rescue mission for the missing River, and the current additional concern of Kiyomi’s sudden disappearance; all those unliving within the boarding residence had, at the very least, assumed a semi-paranormal day of education lay ahead to dull their unspoken trepidations about absentee members of the household.

Outright assuming that the Creatures of the Fa-Cruelty would be open to hearing their concerns for the missing spectral students, and provide answers only adults could; in such a stitchuation. Ones that seemed logical, fair, and took the brunt of onus from the monster teenagers’ shoulders in this matter. That’s what they each understood adults to be FOR, predominantly.

 

However, all these dreams had fallen apart at the seams from the moment horrified cries of agony and outrage began emanating from the building adjacent to their own unliving quarters. Hastening the large group’s journey towards the educational establishment.    
A multitude of eyes darting in all directions, attempting to find the danger which beset their classmates, as various appendages propelled them headlong towards it with little concern for their own safety.

What was found, as the entrance was breached, could not have been imagined.

 

Students littered the hallway corridors; some injured, others trying to assist them. Yet more standing stock still, as frozen in their momentary shock as the newcomers to the scene.   
Creatures moved amongst them all; shouting commands, assessing injury, or merely shepherding teenagers of all monster-types, about. Trying to create some form of order amongst the chaos of this unanticipated… event.

Darkness reigned throughout the school again, though just a few hours prior had seen the electrical company van retreat after a job satisfactorily done; which led to the disturbing conclusion, that perhaps all was not as it had appeared. Several of the lights above were shattered; others merely burned out in their sockets, visibly emitting acrid black smoke, or hissing faintly above the calamitous hubbub of voices. 

 

Toralei breaks the stasis that held sway over the group by grabbing Neighthan; who stands to her immediate left, and is as startled by the sudden contact, as he is by whom it was initiated by. Her claws dig in for the merest of seconds, and then he is shoved forwards; towards the spasmodically-twitching body of Gory Fangtell, held by a rather badly sunburned Scarah Screams. The pair are surrounded by remnants of schoolwork and stationary, dropped by one as whatever had happened, occurred; and abandoned by the other, as the Banshee sought to cease the inherent peril of further injury, in her classmate’s collapse.

He understands what she asks in that moment; and yet, hesitates.   
The hybrid boo did not have the same effectiveness, when it came to healing, as his full-unicorn family members; and there was only so much he could do, for any one of those prone and calling for an end to their suffering. How then, to choose which deserved whatever mercy he could afford them… when there were so many in need?

 

“You help whoever you can, and others will do the same.” Counselled Jinafire, seeing the conflicted emotions crossing Neighthan’s face, at Toralei’s expectant stare.    
Her expression seems at odds with the stitchuation; calm in the face of this maelstrom they had walked in upon. Her words, however, hold an overwhelming truth; and after only a few torturously long seconds, the boo nods. Moving forwards to offer what assistance he could, to the many who cried out for it.

 

Down the hallway, somewhere beyond where their collective sight could adequately perceive great detail, Operetta’s voice rang out orders to a group of terrified younger monsters; voice harsh and demanding, but hands gentle upon the damaged flesh of the monster under her care. Similar stitchuations were in effect all over the school, it seemed, based on what the group encountered as they moved in further.

  
  


Somewhere on the roof, the familiar cackle of the Magicks professor could be heard shrilly on the wind. Though no one whispering or whimpering within the school knew the exact details of what the infamous witch, Baba Yaga, was up to.. it was highly suspected to be linked to the sudden swirling mass of stormclouds overhead; and the deep rumbling of impending rainfall. The increased darkness seemed to evoke a sigh of relief throughout the school; but additionally many curses, as movement now more often than not, yielded minor collisions with objects and others present. 

 

Porter, Spectra and Vandala immediately swept aside their collectively-held grave concerns for absent friends, and dispersed themselves further in; giving light, but not heat, to those swathed in the gloom that once-more pervaded the school. Allowing for sight, but not sensation.

Whereas Sirena remained decidedly by Neighthan, more for morale purposes than anything else; given the natural light, just barely seeping in through the doorway, still illuminated enough for the zombie-unicorn hybrid to see by. The usually scatter-brained hybrid ghoul, surprisingly focused on the task at-appendage; expression serious and only the slightest bit scared.

 

Toralei flicks her eyes at the werekat twins, Meowlody and Purrsephone; apparently allowing enough expression in the minute gesture to disperse the pair into the throng. To what end, it was uncertain; most likely, to do nothing more than provide assistance.   
In a strange twist of fate, the generally-rebellious ghoul chose to move through the practical forbidden-forest of bodies, in the direction of her arch-nemesis, Cleo de Nile; who seemed thoroughly shaken by whatever it was she had witnessed. The mummy-ghoul’s boofiend was nowhere in sight; presumably assisting someone else further in. 

_ Helping people  _ being the creed of sorts for those who operated in that group of do-gooders  Cleo and Deuce frequented. It was all saccharinely sickening most of the time; the ghouls, boos and others, playing at being heroes in minor emergencies. Reaping praise for the most minor of conflict-resolutions; when really only one or two of them -usually Ghoulia- had put in all the brain-power.

Speaking of, the werekat glanced about for any sign of the ghoul-genius; it was unusual to see the Princess without her royal shadow. The question was half-formed on her sharp tongue when a shout for assistance went up somewhere behind; a cry that gained an immediate response in the form of Avea’s thundering hoofbeats.  Falling swiftly, albeit gracefully, upon patches of free floorspace. Bonita hovered behind, at a more stilted pace, but still brought up the rear of the rescue mission. 

 

By the time they had disappeared from sight and sound, to deal with whatever calamity lay beyond those senses in the gloom; Toralei had lost track of Cleo. Turning back to find the space empty, and having to scan the immediate area in order to locate the mummy ghoul, who was carefully applying wads of saturated bandages to a shuddering Elissabat’s clearly-burned arms.    
Seemingly assisted by InvisiBilly, if the half-empty bottle of water hovering mid-air across from her, was any indication. It periodically poured miniscule amounts of cool liquid on both bandages and burned skin; causing Elissabat to cry out, and her helpers to wince.

The mummy-ghoul fervently apologising with every slight movement of the pseudo-cold-compress.   
“ _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know… please just let me-... I’m sorry. _ ” 

It was such an unusual thing to hear uttered by the ghoul, but then again; it could just be mindless babble. Many about them were saying nonsensically positive things in hushed voices to other downed students they were attempting to assist, comfort, or do both simultaneously.

 

“Hey, we need help here!” Porter shouts from a corridor just up from where they stood, and a few heads turn to see Ghoulia rounding the corner, supporting a rather alarmingly lax Frankie Stein. The zombie-ghoul staggered slightly with the added weight; yet clung steadfastly to the mint green ghoul’s waist and the leaden arm hanging over her petite, paranormally pale blue, shoulders.

In seconds, Skelita and Jinafire have taken one of the ghouls apiece, and set them down on the floor where they staggered. Frankie utterly unlifeless and unable to focus; whereas Ghoulia just appeared to be exhausted from the exertion of trying to stop the chaos of earlier. And what, exactly, had happened… was still a prominent question in Toralei’s mind.

 

“ _ <The lights…> _ ” Ghoulia tried to explain to Skelita, who was looking over the deeply purpled areas of skin on the zombie’s cheeks, and exposed shoulders in general concern. “ _ <Someone brought great harm upon the solar-sensitive students by switching out the lights for… I do not know even what they may have been. Lights capable of emitting solar radiation, at such incredible intensity, belong in superhero comics…> _ ”

Her tone was baffled, as if mentally fumbling for an explanation that was more concrete than the infearmation she had. Skelita pats her hand gently, saying something in a low, reassuring tone that appeared to relax the other ghoul, if only for a moment.

Frankie moaned quietly, and twitched. Jinafire shook her slightly, verbally encouraging further reactions in her no-nonsense tone; and gained a slight spark of the bolts in response.

 

“ _...did… we…? _ ” the patchwork ghoul mutters sleepily, concerningly. Utterly drained of energy in a way that had only happened once before… and had required her own grandfather to time-travel to the future in order to save the ghoul’s unlife, within the context of that particular scream-nario.Not a solution readily available to them at present.

Ghoulia shuffles slightly until she has angled herself in Frankie’s direction; so the other ghoul might see the zombie-genius better, if she managed to open her eyes  at any point.    
“ _ <Yes, Frankie. Your efforts in short-circuiting the system were entirely successful; and in the interim I have disabled the connection between the power grid, and Monster High. The lights will not be capable of turning themselves back on without warning.> _ ” 

“ _ O-...oh… good… _ ” arrives the stilted, dreamy response. 

 

Turning to Jinafire, Ghoulia states, “ _ <Miss Long, I do not wish to be perceived as rude, but would you mind my requesting that you take this opportunity to retrieve Frankie’s portable energiser? It is featured quite prominently in her locker, and you will know it on sight. She needs it rather urgently, given the amount of energy expenditure required to have dealt a deliberate school-wide black-out of hardwired electrical systems.> _ ”

As the elegant ghoul stood up, with a playful, “Please Ghoulia, call me Jinafire” on her lips; the genius caught at her dress. An afterthought spurring the action.

“ _ <I do apologise, Jinafire. It seems I failed to give you the combination to Frankie’s locker, thereby making your entire trip useless. To gain entry, you must take the lock in hand and input -in this exact order- the passcode of _  theta-omega-theta-pi-gamma-delta-pi.>” The blue ghoul frowns behind blood-red glasses. “ _ <Or would you prefer I wrote it down, instead? There may some items of stationery in my pockets…> _ ” 

 

Jinafire forestalls the hurried patting of clothing by simply stating, “Thank you, but no... I recall it all perfectly. Please rest here, and adhere to any instructions my dear fiend, Skelita, provides. I will be back momentarily.” She nods to her skeletal ghoulfiend, crooks a finger at the hovering Porter, and in seconds, the pair have almost entirely disappeared from view.

 

Toralei watches them dart down the hall, her tail twitching in discomfort at the reality that although many were doing their level best; it simply was not enough. And nothing the werekat ghoul could offer would provide respite for all those who needed it.

It was a strange thing, having a conscience. The damn thing made you want to just  _ help _ , anyone and everyone, without thought of reciprocity. Toralei would never admit that, in that moment, she suddenly realised what fuelled the Frankenstein ghoul and her fiends… it would be too much like the profound villain-has-a-heart moment in every  _ Grisley _ movie ever made. 

For a second, she kind of wished it was. Because it would mean this calamitous chaos was nothing more than the conflict in the middle of all scarytales… and a happy end was assured.   
But this was real unlife. Nothing was ever easy… you just had to face whatever came at you, head-on, and hope for the best. That’s what the streets had taught Toralei, and her pseudo-sisters, Meowlody and Purrsephone.

Speaking of the twins, she hadn’t seen them in a long swathe of time. The werekat flicked her eyes in all directions, finally seeing the tell-tale gleam of Spectra’s light illuminating what must be Purrsephone, quite a distance down the hall. Whomsoever was resting on her lap was being quietly admonished by the similarly-figured monster right beside the ghoul; Meowlody telling… ah, Bram Devein, to stop squirming and let them help.

Something inside settled, to know they were safe. She’d never admit it… but it did. 

 

Naturally, just as Toralei was giving free reign to her sappier, more compassionate side; something began to happen.

Sensitive, pierced ears twitched at the sudden sound of approaching hoofbeats; darting out to yank a pair of stock-still, yet uninjured, bystanders out of the main road. Seconds later, several monsters came tearing through the restricted space wherein they’d been playing statue. 

Glancing to both sides as the mad-dash subsides, the rebellious ghoul scrutinises those her iron-like grip slowly released. She did not know who one of them was, he seemed to just be some random harpy boo; whose expression hinted that he was about two seconds from either messing himself spectacularly, or spontaneously mass-moulting in an explosion of feathers. Oh, but the other younger student that Toralei had practically power-slammed against the lockers, was of greater interest.    
Under the claws of her retracting right hand’s claws, was none other than the distraught-looking Howleen Wolf; the youngest member of that particular lupine family appearing shaken, and desperately clinging to her zipped-up jacket, as if it held something precious inside.

 

No time to ponder that, Toralei tells herself. She sucks in a breath and then whirls about to look them both down, assessing if either is alright or needing some sort of coddling. 

Thankfully, both are spared that fate; whatever it may have looked like. 

“Stay here,” she tells the pair in a far more serious tone than the werekat had ever used before. “Stay out of the way, and keep your fool selves safe until the paranormalmedics arrive. Alright? Good.”

 

For good measure, as she strides away, Toralei audibly mumbles, “ _ Clawdeen’ll freaking make me into a hat if anything happens to at least one of you… _ ” and pretends she can’t hear the strained, answering laughs. 

 

-)0(-

 

“Everybody moooooooooooooooooooooove!” bellows Manny Taur, at the many still-upright and non-responsive monsters in the way.   
In his arms are a pair of young water monsters, unconscious and occasionally rasping in harsh breaths through dry, badly burned and already flaking gills. Their skin is hot and arid to the touch; a concerning sign that the boo refuses to acknowledge.  
  
Just behind the minotaur manster, his ghoulfiend Iris Clops sat expertly astride Avea’s equestrian half; a single arm cinched tightly about the waist of one, Honey Swamp, who lolled concerningly against the cyclops… shuddering in each breath with significant effort. With the Rottish exchange student, Lorna McNessie clinging on behind, face buried in the back of Iris’s neck; puffs of hard-won air ghosting over the cyclops’s skin like the desert wind. Neither the hybrid nor cyclops say anything; simply instinctually working in tandem to get their classmates from where they had been found, to the only place any of them could think to take them.

Robecca skated just behind, over the heads of those unable to move or be moved from their path; Finnegan Wake, semi-conscious and holding onto her shoulders in a pseudo-piggy back ride. She kept talking the entire time, and he mumbled back in delight at how fast she was going. His skin was rather wickedly burned; but the only tell of how bad it really was, was the slight tremble in the bulging muscles about her metallic throat. 

 

Abbey Bominable and Rochelle Goyle made up the rear at a bracing pace; expressions determined, and not the slightest bit afraid for the charges they bore. Neither could allow themselves to feel even the slightest of doubts regarding their rescuees’ chances of survival.

The garghoul held Lagoona in her arms very gently, like one would an infant the first time they held one. Almost as if she was not entirely certain how much pressure could be applied in a stitchuation such as this; the swim captain’s skin was an angry, purple, blistering mess in large patches across paranormally light aqua arms and legs.    
Thankfully, the sea-water monster’s face had been spared for the most part, with only minor burns across cheeks and forehead; a far less violent violet than the rest of her injuries. 

In contrast, her yeti companion held the limp Gil over one shoulder, as delicately as one can under such circumstances; and his cracked helmet under her alternate arm. Luckily for the fresh-water boo, his sports jacket had provided enough protection for his arms, so they remained undamaged; however the lower portions of his legs, his hands and his face, were all fairly well burned and blistered. Painful to look at; even.

Abbey had gently iced over the worst affected areas the minute they arrived on-scream; but it seemed not to have done anything more than provide short-unlived relief, allowing the pair to pass out and escape the pain momentarily. When the lights had come on the second time, it had been at such an incredible intensity that those directly under them, as Lagoona and Gil had been, had faced significant injury.

It had been enough to encourage the glass of Gil’s protective dome to crack at the sudden contrast of cool water within and, apparently a small sun, directly outside. Thankfully, the pair were shaded over immediately by swiftly-thinking students in the area, until Abbey, Rochelle and the others could arrive to ferry them away to the School Pool. 

 

As far as anyone knew, or as the Creatures were shouting, ParanormalMedics were on the way; everyone needed to remain calm and assist who they could, or get out of the way so others might assist the injured. All would be alright, they told themselves. Over and over again without end. All would be alright... because it  _ had _ to be.

 

The group moved at great speed through the last twists and turns of the corridors to the entrance of the school pool; carefully skirting about the injured and those who huddled around them, providing assistance or comfort. Periodically, the group members shouting for someone to clear the path; or merely nodding in recognition, at others who corralled the shell-shocked into providing a clear passage for their time-sensitive rescue mission.

 

“Come ooooooooooon,” Manny’s voice spurred them on the last few feet, as he lowered a shoulder and charged through the double-doors; miraculously without disturbing either of the young water monsters in his care. Momentum enough to embed the doorknobs into the solid brick walls behind, keeping them open as the others made their way inside.

The minotaur boo doesn’t hesitate, and jumps in the pool; intimating with an impatient snort and head-jerk combination, that others should also follow his example. At the first caress of water, the ridiculously small freshmen he’s carrying hiss and sigh at odd intervals; soothed and jarred by the feeling of liquid on their dry, burned skin. 

Slowly, very slowly, he submerges them one at a time; still holding on, just in case.    
In Biteology, or maybe it was the annual Fierce-st Aid class attached to the subject, they’d learned you had to respond to a dehydrated water monster quickly, but not let panic see you literally slam-dunking the affected into the nearest water source. Finesse was required, or they might startle and hurt themselves, or their fierce-st aider, in the process.

 

Following his example, Rochelle climbs down the shallow-end stairs; gradually letting the water rise up and over Lagoona’s damaged limbs. The sea-water monster ghoul fights her a little, thrashing in discomfort as damaged skin comes in contact with her natural element; and it is all the gargoyle can do to maintain the delicate grip against such a vehement reaction. She murmurs in French, words she once heard her own parents whisper to her when she was younger… afraid, unsure. Comforting in the only way she can think of.

Across the pool, Manny was also talking; his voice reassuring and surprisingly calm given all the bellowing and charging of moments ago. They move out a little ways, allowing the water monsters they held to sink under the water in a slow, deliberate fashion; until each one took their first breaths of water, and began to float just under the surface.

She looked to the minotaur boo, and he nodded back. An entire confinsation held in nothing more than the briefest contact of eyes, and near-imperceptible inclinations of their heads.  Carefully, the ghoul nudges the underwater Lagoona closer to where he stands, and backs away; watching for a long few seconds, making certain she was alright on her own in such a state, before turning away.

 

Abbey awaited her at the edge of the pool. Yeti-ghoul kneeling by the side and holding onto Gil by the shoulders, supporting his head; the discarded sports jacket and cracked dome, piled unobtrusively off to her left. Maximising the amount of dehydrated skin that felt the cool embrace of the pool was imperative, and an important determining factor as to whether or not this rudimentary treatment was as effective as it could be, for the downed water monsters.

Rochelle maneuvers herself into the most practical position available and nods to her yeti compatriot. Abbey releases Gil into her waiting, waterlogged arms, and she automatically begins to move him further out; towards where Manny was watching over the others.

 

Behind the stone ghoul, Abbey turns to assist Iris and Avea.    
The former unable to dismount the latter, without one or both of the dependent parties falling off in the process; given how tightly they clung to the Cyclops. And it was a stone-cold fact that appeared to be causing the kind-hearted green ghoul significant distress.    
The yeti allays her fears when she gently takes hold of Lorna McNessie, carefully disengaging the young slaydy’s arms from about Iris; and pulling her into strong, blue arms. 

A slight shudder passes through the Rottish exchange student at Abbey’s natural chill, and the yeti murmurs an apology as she moves closer to the pool. Foregoing gently lowering her in via the edge, this time; the yeti ghoul, sliding off her large furry boots with an almost supernatural grace by the edge of the pool, then takes the same stairs Rochelle had previously used to enter the pool.

Lorna grabs hold of her dress the minute water touches her achingly-dry body. It is reflexive, and the rapidly-regaining greater-awareness ghoul, lets go almost immediately after her large eyes blink Abbey into focus. Some form of embarrassed apology on her lips, that the yeti waves away.

“Do you know what has happened?” Abbey asks, gently, still moving deeper into the pool until half their bodies apiece, were submerged. At the confusion on the other’s face, she added, “There was an attack on the school. The lights were very hot, like the sun; I do not know why, or how, though. You and the other water monsters were hurt when they came on… some of you are burned, and others only dehy-... dried out. We have brought you to the school pool, until the paranormalmedics can arrive and do more.”

Lorna just blinks, and again. Absorbing the infearmation and her current predicament slowly… then she nods; more a fractional inclination of the head, but enough for the yeti to know she understands.

“I am taking you over here to Manny - _ the big bull boo _ \- you remember him, yes? Good, good. He will help lower you into the pool, now.” She explains, tone soft and conveying only altruistic intent as she paused before the minotaur manster. “Here he is, all ready to help -are you not, Manny?”

 

The statement earns a mild glare, and an exasperated huff from the boo; but Manny indeed nods, reaching out wordlessly to take Lorna from her. It takes a moment to disengage the grip she has on Abbey’s attire, but both members of the rescue party are quite strong, and gently persuade her to let go, miraculously without any significant force. The Rottish lass attempts to mutter an explanation, her hands had frozen in position, but it is dismissed politely; it did not matter, overall. Just that she had survived the entire ordeal and made it to the pool.

 

Iris was already in the water and swimming over, shorter than the rest of the party, and therefore having to use a rescue-stroke. Honey Swamp seemed to gently undulate with the currents made by the cyclops ghoul’s efforts, but otherwise showed no visible signs of waking. She was the least burned, but had ended up forced into hiding within one of the larger lockers about school; thus effectively trapping her in a hot-box, where the ghoul had swiftly dehydrated. Minimal sunburn splayed over her cheeks, but her skin was disconcertingly hot and feverish, even though they were now in water.

Abbey presses a hand to Honey’s cheek as they passed, wondering if the cool temperature she exuded might startle a reaction from the film-loving ghoul. Sadly, not even a minor twitch could be perceived… it was worrying.

 

Avea came to kneel at the side of the pool closest to Manny, Abbey and the ever-encroaching Iris; just there, in case she should be needed for anything. Rochelle had seen to Gil, and returned to the side of the pool whereupon Robecca knelt; Finnegan Wake already in the water up to his waist, and hanging onto the side. Holding out because one could assume they all knew exactly how badly those burns would sting the moment he slipped under the surface.

“Come, Finn, it is just another of your stunts. Are you not the one always reminding us that there is some pain to every gain, a sting to every ‘sick stunt’, no?” Rochelle smiles, leaning against the side of the pool by the daredevil mermanster, entire posture suggesting this was a casual chance meeting and not something far more serious. 

“Perhaps, but when I usually say it… I’m not referring to being this tanned.” He shrugs, and hisses as the tight, angry purple of his skin reminds the mermanster exactly why that movement was a terrible idea. “Yeah, never like getting burned… although, to be fair, last time was kind of my own fault…”

As he talked, Finnegan was slowly lowering more of his torso and arms into the pool. Words distracting from the obvious discomfort of water washing over open, angry wounds; so neither made any acknowledgement of what he was doing.

“Oh really?” Chimes in Robecca, “Don’t tell me… I’m picturing you, with new flame decals on your wheels, and three,  _ no, FIVE _ different flaming hoops of decreasing size. Am I in the ballpark?” 

His laugh is breathy as the right arm submerges to the wrist, followed by the left.   
“Y-yeah, how’d you guess, ghoul? You’re definitely on the pitch, except that it was seven hoops, not five.  _ Al- _ always something magical about that number. Everything was,  _ huh _ , going fine… and then it wasn’t. Kind of miscalculated on number four, I think the ramp wasn’t tall enough by c-centimetre or something small like that… didn’t give me the vertical I needed… g-got caught in the hoop.”

Everything below his neck had finally made it into the pool; arms undulating slowly, gently, to keep him upright. With a cheeky wink, mindful of his semi-sunburned face, Finn expertly flicks his head so the ever-present racing goggles slide down and adhere to his eyes.   
“S-see you in a bit, Slaydies… I think I’m going to just sink under here and let the water leech some of the sting from this wicked burn I got going on, on my face right now.”

So saying, the blue boo sinks beneath the surface; stilling for a moment, and then propelling himself with both his muscular, rather angrily purple arms, towards the others. It was a journey of only a few meters, but it was clear the effort under injured conditions, was far more taxing than it should paranormally be. 

 

“Is that everyone?” Avea calls out, over to Robecca and Abbey; as the yeti wades back her way and the mechanical ghoul walks around.

“Yes.” Abbey answers succinctly.

The hybrid stands, stretching all her limbs and wings in a slow, pained fashion.    
“Alright, then if you stay here with them, I’ll wait just outside to direct the paranormalmedics in here, when they arrive.” The normally brash ghoul says, and heads for the still wide-open doorway.

 

“We must hope that they will arrive soon…” Rochelle says, looking down at the myriad of water monsters laying quietly in the waters about them. “I do not think there is anything else we can do, if they worsen.”

Soaking wet, and sitting on the side, Iris Clops looks to Abbey.   
“Could you… you know,” she fiddles with her hair, trying to think of a subtle way to speak her thought aloud, unoffensively. Settling for a wiggling of fingers, and the phrase, “ice magic them, until the paranormal medics arrive?”

Amused, despite the chaos, Abbey smiles back and repeats the wiggling-finger gestures.   
“It may be possible to preserve one or more of the water monsters within a shield of ice… but I cannot be certain how they would react to it. Some have only known warm waters all their unlives, and it may prove too great a shock. Their injuries are severe, as well, I would not add to the strain on their systems unless there no choice. But it is a good idea.”

She wiggles her fingers at the seemingly crest-fallen ghoul, and a small flurry of snowflakes dart across at Iris; who, caught utterly off-guard, giggles in surprise. Hands darting out to try and catch a few before they melted.

  
  


Manny hadn’t said anything recently, mainly due to the reality that he was watching those under the water’s surface. Keeping an eye incase something should go wrong that required his intervention; for, at his core, the minotaur was naturally a protective being. Rude, arrogant and unfair at times, too; but wasn’t everybody at various periods in their unlife?   
The boo found himself in a severe stitchuation at this very moment, trying to keep multiple instances of their classmates unalive until help arrived; and not being able to do more than what was currently being enacted. He was frustrated, and yet at the same time, grateful that Iris had come out of the fray unscathed. 

Manny was steadfastly avoiding thinking of who could have done this, or why… as the very idea of this calculated assault on their school made the minotaur see red. And anger was the last thing any of them needed right now. 

He was drawn from these thoughts, brought on by the perpetual observation he kept on gently undulating underwater figures, by the movement of those about him.

 

In the interim, Rochelle had moved to his left and Abbey his right; leaving Iris completely opposite him, where she sat upon the edge of the pool. Effectively creating a boundary of sorts for the fresh-and-salt water monsters existing in the space between them.    
As much of a safety net as they could make, given the circumstances.

 

Robecca smiles tightly, gliding towards the door. Her role in this rescue had ceased the moment their fellow students had been placed within the watery environment.    
At current, she still was not water-tight enough to withstand a rainshower without aid of an umbrella… so one could not simply imagine how much damage an incidental swim would cause her internal circuitry. Better that she find another task to complete, or student to assist, while they waited for professional help to arise.

They all saw her leave, and said nothing. All felt it would have been foolish to wish her farewell, or thanks; as did the robotic ghoul herself, who offered no such parting words to those in the pool. And only a mutual nod to Avea, as they passed in the outside corridor.

 

_ Let help come soon _ , her one and only thought, as Robecca aimed herself for the nearest whimper of pain. _ Let them be in time to help. _

 

-)0(-

 

Distractedly, Cleo glances at the urgently flashing screen of her violently vibrating iCoffin. 

 

The ghoul had been reluctant to release even a single hand from its important task, just to fish the telecommunications device out of her pocket; but Invisibilly had insisted. The semi-transparent boo making a visible effort to maintain opacity, if only for a short period, specifically so that the mummy ghoul could see when to trade-off positions. 

Elissabat winced as pressured briefly released and was reapplied from a different angle; Billy now gently holding cool, hastily-improvised, bandage compresses to her injuries while Cleo periodically applied water. They were rapidly running out, and there was already a line at the only water fountain in the vicinity.

Of the monsters in the school who remained focused and dealing with the scare-mergency, several had taken to applying water to the stricken vampires and other sun-sensitive boos, ghouls and non-bitenary students who had been affected. Many who helped also bore the remnants of close encounters with the… solar lamps?    
No one knew what to call them, just that anyone who did not directly absorb solar radiation… had been tanned, rather involuntarily. Though none of the helping would dare admit it, too focused on saving the unlives of fellow students; many of whom they would paranormally be at odds with, but old animosities had been swept under the rug in…  _ light _ … of recent circumstances.

Still, the water bottle in her free hand grew light, and Cleo made a mental note of this as she swiftly checked the iCoffin. Biting her lip in concern when she realised who the multitude of missed calls were from; choosing, instead, to open the singular message sent upon the device amidst the chaotic calling spree. It was from, perhaps five minutes prior.

.

_ Time: 8:45am _ _   
_ _ To: Ra’sChosenOne _

_ Cleo, no time for subtlety, you need to get everyone out of the school now!!! _ _   
_ _ Something is happening; they buried bodies last night in the woods, and I found this book… no, later. There are graver things at play here than first imagined. _ _   
_ _ All I am aware of is that someone has tampered with the school, and you are all in terrible danger. _ __   
  


_ -DesignerDiva _

.

The message brought up many more questions than it answered, but she sighed wearily all the same; mentally thanking the other for trying. It seemed, given the logged times of unanswered incoming calls, even if Cleo had picked it up when first Lillith had attempted to contact her, her normie fiend’s attempted warning would have come far too late.

One-handedly trickling the last of the water bottle’s contents on the nearest bandage-compress, she texted back a short reply. Predominantly to let Lillith know she had not been destroyed by whatever entity had enacted this attack; most likely hunters of the girl’s own clan.

 

.

_ Time: 9:03am _ _   
_ _ To: DesignerDiva _

_ I know. _

_ The lights…  _ _   
_ _ I am okay. Others are not. _

_ Call you later. _

 

_ -Ra’s ChosenOne _

.

 

As her paranormally well-manicured nails clicked off the screen in a tiny rhythm, and Cleo sent the message; the reality of it all seemed to sweep over her. Had it truly only been a handful of minutes ago the world had gone utterly mad?

It seemed impossible, but it was true.

Everything had fallen apart without warning, without time to react or respond other than with the most basic of instincts. Fear and Pain, Compassion and Determination. Everyone reverting to a handful of traits in the wake of such an unanticipated screamnario; split into the distinct groups of inanimate, reactionary, and injured.

 

Ghoulia had taken one short glance at the solar ambush through her spooktacular spectacles; then grabbed Frankie by her thankfully well-secured wrist, and took off running. Or rather, shouted directions of where they needed to be in a hurried tone, and the electrically-charged ghoul half-ran, half-carried the zombie ghoul-genius to the destination she specified. Shorting out the electrical grid shortly-thereafter, and plunging them into blissful semi-darkness; stopping the perpetual assault on the already-injured and their assistants-slash-unliving shields.

When the lights had flickered on the second time,  monsters present had either covered their own faces, and frozen in place; or immediately reacted by shielding screaming others from the peril they faced. It was rather indicative of who they were in a crisis, she thought. Thinking of the One, or the Many, as it were.

Cleo would never admit it aloud, but she was rather pleased with herself for the manner in which she had reacted the to stitchuation. The first overwhelming thought being an all-consuming horror that weighed down limbs like lead, which swiftly transitioned into a internal drive to help, a blazing need to assist; to provide necessary comfort and fierce-st aid to the confused, frightened and harmed.    
Briefly wondering, all the while, as to how Nefera would have handled a scare-mergency like this. What standard of response should she dignify to such a stitchuation?

Then again, the reality had hit, she no longer cared for the thoughts of her sister and father. Cleo was her own womanster, and all of her gods help whomsoever thought otherwise.   
If her Mummy… hmmm, her Daddy, found fault with her pitching in to help when later she recounted this morning’s events to him, or made on off-hand mention of how a ruler was to remain aloof amidst the suffering of their people… then she might just lose her temper. Perhaps pointedly remind the former-Pharaoh exactly what sort of an attitude had lost them their right to rule, the respect of their people. 

If this crisis had taught her anything, it was that compassion and kindness were key to being an effective person; and most likely a successful ruler. Prior to assisting Elissabat, Cleo had done her best to motivate the hex out of several nearby classmates; commanding tone only half as effective as leading by example had been. She could not recall details about who they had been, exactly; but felt accomplished in the knowledge that most had dispersed through the gloom to assist various vampires, water monsters and others possessing significant solar aversions.

 

She jolted from her reverie and back into the current moment at the playful, yet strained, tone of Invisibilly. 

“Heh, I don’t mean to tell someone of your royal status that they’re wrong… but I don’t think even your commanding glare could possibly wring another drop out of that bottle.” He joked, smile appearing and disappearing in the space of a blink, disconcertingly.    
Many regretted the exact moment the boo had first seen the Cheshire Cat from  _ Grisley _ ’s  _ Malice in Underland _ , for that exact reason. On the other hand, Scarah found it endearing, which was predictably why he kept it up.

Cleo blinked, frowned, and then turned to glare at the fully-upended - _ yet traitorously empty _ \- water bottle she held. There wasn’t even a hint of moisture on the inside, any longer. For a second, the thought to verbally admonish the inanimate object came to mind… but the mummy quashed it hastily. No need for anyone present to assume she’d lost control of her fa-cruelties, just yet; say, by witnessing her shouting at an empty water bottle.

 

“Hey, if you’re done taking your text-explosion, or whatever that was… how ‘bout we switch out again?” Billy asked, face and shoulders appearing; he seemed to have lost his signature beanie somewhere in the chaos, and had yet to notice. “It’s just that there’s a Boos Bathroom like just over there I could refill the water bottle at a lot faster than waiting for the fountain.”

True to form, a large queue had erupted around the solitary water-dispenser; students making multiple trips, as most only had various pieces of clothing to periodically wet down, or were running cupped handfuls of water back and forth. Admirable, but ultimately problematic when it came down to sheer accessibility and effectiveness.

Having taken in the view, Cleo hands over the bottle without hesitation and takes up her former position of applying the semi-dry compress to Elissabat’s arms. The ghoul’s bleary violet eyes transferred from where Invisibilly’s face should be, to Cleo’s, and managed a weak smile.

“H-hey, don’t worry… w-we’ll get throu-...gh this.” Her tone was waveringly upbeat, despite the dire stitchuation in which the pair found themselves.

 

Unable to think of any sort of reassuring response, the de Nile instead opts for something more physically demonstrative of her intent to help the other ghoul, in the actress’s…  _ possibly half an hour or so at this point _ ... of need.    
  
And where, exactly, were the amboolances?    
The canny ghoul had heard Creatures calling for them almost immediately after the lights went out; shouting into iCoffins, over the hubbub of panicked shrieks and pained groans. Seriously, they should have been here by now, already. What greater scare-mergency could exist, beyond half a student-dead-body being injured in a malevolent attack?

 

Cleo rearranges herself, so that Elissabat is no longer flat upon the floor, but resting gently against her knees, where the de Nile kneels; and wouldn’t Nefera laugh to think she had allowed a ‘commoner’ to rest on her lap?   
The ghoul wracking her distant, ancient memories for a time when the Queen had still been within her unlife; attempting to recall anything else she could be doing to provide greater comfort. The only thing coming to mind was an ancient, half-remembered lullaby Cleo vaguely recalled the tune to; one her mumster had sang when she could not sleep, during those long, arid nights.

Absently, Cleo began to hum the melody. It was short, and repeated over and over again; but it seemed effective, despite her current inability to stroke the long violet hair in time with the song. As that would require relinquishing hold on at least one of the compresses, and that could be ultimately detrimental… as their positioning was awkward already, and a loss of steady hands pressing them to their rightful surface, would see them most likely fall off otherwise.

Thankfully, the Hauntleywood actress’s skin was merely deeply, painfully sunburned; as she had managed to hide under a rather large assignment scroll they had for Dead Languages class in third period that day.  _  Thank you, Mr Rotter _ .    
So the skin under the compresses was neither hideously blistered, or concerningly blackened, as some of the other vampire students had experienced. It was merely a deeper, angrier shade than it normally was and caused a deep ache within the affected ghoul at even the merest thought of movement.   
  
Meaning that the only option, as per their mandatory Fierce-st Aid training, had been to apply something cool and soothing, as they awaited proper medical aid to arrive. The other portion of the lesson covered something about keeping the downed party calm, or comforted…  _ something along those lines _ . Purrhaps the Scream-queen had been paying a little more attention to Spectra’s latest article about her and Deuce, in the Ghostly Gossip’s Couple-column; than the lesson itself. Her bad. Cleo thought she was doing okay, regardless.

Fake it until you make it, being the unofficial creed of the de Nile Fear-a-mid. 

  
  


Invisibilly hummed a little as he got up, letting them know when his currently non-visible self had stood up and moved about them. It was the melody Cleo had introduced; easily memorised after a few repetitions, and harmonising nicely with her own continued hum, as he moved. The sound continued past the ghouls, weaving through various little groups and by-standers… and out of ear-shot. 

He was a little concerned at being out of sight, heh, well… proximity-wise  in this particular case; just on the off-chance something serious went down, and the boo wasn’t in the vicinity to assist. Logically, he knew Elissabat was fine under Cleo’s care, and so were the others in the immediate area; but after… whatever the hex had happened, it was kinda hard to just let those nagging thoughts and anxieties go. You know?

 

 _What if that was only, like, Stage 1 of a masterplan?_   
What if any second now, while he was in the Boos Bathroom, crack teams of hunters burst through the ceiling and started doing awful things to the injured and their protectors?  
 _What if Invisibilly stopped letting Scarah talk him into watching those Hunter-based horror movies late at night?_ It really sent his imagination into a wild place, but he suspected the Banshee actively enjoyed having him cling to her like an infant Drop Bear, at the really spooky-bad bits.

Billy laughs at the absurdity of his thoughts, despite the dark stitchuation in which the entire student-dead-body found themselves. Semi-transparent hands finding the cleanest of the taps - _ not an easy task in the most-used boos bathroom in all the school _ \- and positioning the waterbottle underneath it. He frowns as it takes a long second before any water actually decides to gush out, an odd echoing gurgle preceding it.

As far as the boo knew, all the water in the school ran on a gravity-pump styled system; just in case exactly this sort of scream-nario came about, a loss of electricity and water could leave many students in serious trouble. So the pause was… ominous. Or maybe it had always done that… he didn’t recall; every inch of his invisible flesh felt too tight, nerves frayed and jittery. 

And it was all so stupid.

So, someone or something had snuck into the school to do what they did. Okay, it had already come to pass so everyone might as well just get on to dealing with the ensuing dearth of professional medical assistance, for the out-of-commission monsters littering the school. Every water monster in the area was already in the pool… but helping the vampires, and the handful of other seriously-affected students, unfortunately just wasn’t that easy. 

He told himself this over and over in different ways. Mind a litany of stilted, command-like thoughts that urged he remain calm and assist; there was no time for panic or losing his patented chill. Honestly, he’s pretty sure the only reason no one else is in here having a minor emotional breakdown over the morning’s proceedings, is simply because they haven’t yet had the time and space to do so. Everyone set in their current ‘stand still, don’t move’ or ‘protect the helpless, offer aid’ mindsets; a never-ending thought process destined to break when something new happened to progress the stitchuation. Positively or negatively was yet to be seen.

 

Invisibilly takes a deep breath, allowing himself to become visible, and stares directly into the mirror, overflowing bottle in one hand and a serious look of determination on his rarely-visible face. The boo locks eyes with himself in the reflective surface.

“ _ You got this. _ ” Invisibilly says in a determined tone. “ _ Just go out there and help Elissabat, help the others, find Scarah. We can do this, and we’re not going to freak out until way later when no one’s unlives are on the line. Everyone left over can have a big old Freak-Out Party, and we’ll be the main attraction. But right now, hold it together. Because we can. Do this, I mean _ .”

He runs a hand through unruly tufts of beanie-less hair in frustration. Even his pep-talks were coming off a tad depressing… which was just kinda sad, really. 

A flicker of movement catches his eye, and the boo practically disappears in a heartbeat. Half-turning to see if maybe there’d been someone attempting to sneak out of a cubicle, without the _ crazy dude who was pep-talking to himself in the mirror _ noticing. Only to find… nothing. No one.

Well, unless there was another invisible dude running about the school no one had thought to warn him about. That could be weirdly, awesome, right?

 

Speaking of weird… the boo suddenly realises that the water-bottle stitchuation had gotten rather out of hand, overflowing profusely and practically everywhere, due to his inattentiveness. With a rather garbled curse, Billy hastily shuts off the tap and searches for the elusive lid, that had apparently floated off to stalls unknown while he wasn't paying it any mind.

Instantly, his entire body startles before the reason why even comes across the boo’s mind.    
There, in the mirror… it flickers again. Just the split-second impression imprinted on his consciousness. A face.

Or rather… no face at all. 

 

“K-Kiyom-...?!” he stutters, as it reappears again, and again. As if fighting to be seen, to be heard. Though no mouth appears, he could swear someone was talking at him. 

No, not talking… screaming.

It…  _ she _ , gives the impression that the ghoul can only barely see him through the reflective surface, and he tries to make it easier for her, willing himself visible through conscious effort. 

There is only the briefest of acknowledgements, a slight angling of her expressionless face that shows she has locked onto his presence. It is enough.

Invisibilly opens his mouth to ask… something. _What_ _was happening? Was Kiyomi okay? How could he help_? Any of those and dozens more sprang instantly to mind. But before he can convince any of them to exit his mouth as anything intelligible… the mirror starts to creak and snap.

He can physically feel a heavy vibration in the air, in the same way you felt the music move through you at a rave; it buzzed angrily and insistently through his body, making his tongue and fingertips tingle awkweirdly. Tiny crevices, large cracks, and jagged divides all race one another across the smooth expanse of the bathroom mirror.

The hum increased in tempo until it seemed trapped in his skull, pounding at his temples in an unpleasant manner reminiscent of a headache. Building. Building and demanding release.   
Before the coherent thought to ask ‘How?’ even managed to form, it was answered. Explosively.

 

With an almighty scream of anger and anguish, fear and fury, the mirror shattered outwards in a destructive shower of shards. The water-bottle was lost as Billy threw up his arms to protect his face, feeling projectiles of all sizes and consistencies rip into the flesh there.

His own shout of surprise, of pain, was utterly subsumed by the swiftly-fading Kiyomi’s.    
Back slamming into the floor, knocked off his feet by the sheer force of the cry; the vibration, now released, dissipated. Leaving only the battered boo laying upon the floor, each lance of pain from spine, skull and shards contributing to the overwhelming need to sleep a dozen unlifetimes on these dingy tiles.

  
The last thing Invisibilly coherently recalls, before the throbbing convinces him to let go of consciousness completely, is the sudden slam of the bathroom door and a familiar, concerned tone shouting his name. To the backdrop of wailing amboolance sirens.   



	11. Sworn to Shriekrecy

It was hard to think.    
Nothing seemed real enough to latch on to entirely, making it rather ridiculously difficult for the tiny pink ghoul  to think in a straight line… or even a curved one. She would settle for anything at this point; uncertainty was anathema to the vampire.

Her head swirled, thoughts weaving in and out dizzyingly, as she clung to the only solid surface she could find. It vibrated a little. Maybe talking… maybe laughing at her hands clasped tightly in the folds of their shirt. 

Oh, a shirt… as in, clothing. Who was it she could be attached to thusly? There was literally no light to be shed on her current stitchuation. Where had it gone? She did not know.

It did not matter too much… as the slight ripples of vocalisations felt,  _ not unpleasant _ to her overstimulated mind and skin. Draculaura heard her nickname used, and clung to it, using the syllables as a direction in which her consciousness needed to aim, in order to make sense of all these many conflicting emotions and sensations.

 

“...-nd then I was like, ‘ _ Well what did you THINK was gunna happen if you left it out on the bench like that? _ ’, but they just weren’t falling for it.” Holt’s voice pervaded the confusing disarray of her thoughts, even though she could not see where he was. She could feel him take a breath to continue rambling, but her short tug on his ying-yang styled undershirt forestalled whatever the DJ had been about to say.

“Ula D? You with me again?” He asks, tone soft and filled with concern many would not credit the boo with.

“I… think so?” she replies, not entirely certain. “What-...?”

 

“Long story short, you were about to tell us about how a Jekyll-Hyde vs Clawd Wolf fight would go down, in your imagination at least… and then, without any warning, the lights came back on for the first time. When they shut off again, everyone was just sort of standing about blinking in the dark, trying to see anything at all.” The party manster takes a breath, exhales, and repeats the process twice more before continuing. Steeling himself to impart possibly damaging infearmation.

“Suddenly, those fluorescent bulbs snapped back on again,  _ way  _ brighter than before, like… it was like standing under the summer sun, but close enough to touch almost. Totally surreal, actually. Water monsters everywhere collapsed or threw themselves into lockers as their skin began to burn or dry out, and vampires just began to scream… it was awful, Ula D.

And you... you were right beside me, but I didn’t move fast enough to stop you being burnt. All I could think to do was work with what I had, make you smaller and shield you until Frankie-Fine Stein and the Gore-geous Ghoulia Yelps, could put the whammy on the wiring and make it stop.  Which is why you’re now kneeling on the floor in some very flattering attire that I think might just tick Clawd off enough to test out your hypothetical who-would-win theory.”

 

Fabric shifts about her form, and she realises that… not only is she kneeling in the middle of a school hallway with no recollection of how it came to pass; but there’s something covering her completely. It lifts up and Holt looks in at the vampire, smile as wide as it was relieved; she realises he is no longer sporting his trademark red jacket, and makes an assumptive leap.

For some reason, as the dust settles and she gets ahold of her fear-culties once more, the only thing she can think to ask is…   
“ _ So, if I’m wearing your jacket… would that mean that Jackson would be half-naked if you switched back over, right now? _ ”    
Apparently any odd thought that could be arguably wrestled into a coherent sentence, was exiting her mouth at the moment. How embarrassing. Or, at least, it should be. She couldn’t really feel any particular way at current; which was a concern best dealt with later.

His reaction switches from initial confusion, to surprise, and all the way to uncontrollable laughter in seconds. “Oh my ghoul, can you even  _ imagine _ his  _ face _ ?!” 

There’s a pause where the boo waggles his eyebrows outrageously at the vampire, “Unless that’s the outcome you’re secretly hoping for… in which case I can let you see the floor model - _ it comes in blue _ .”

She starts to laugh, and it feels good. Like it was the best thing she could have done despite the tightness of her skin and the way some parts of her ached unrelentingly. As if something that was meant to be inside, had finally awoken again; unfortunately bringing with it significant discomfort.   
“Oh Holt, you are so _ silly _ sometimes. Thank you… and thank you for covering me, when the lights came on.”

 

He moves back, expression skeptical and a pierced eyebrow cocked.    
“You’re not going to try and force me to eat seaweed jelly over this are you?”

Draculaura allows a tired chuckle to escape, there’s really not energy for more; her head thunks against his chest and the tiny vamp shuts her eyes. Everything was beginning to sting rather relentlessly, making the world tilt the more the sensation grew. From an insistent throbbing, to an overwhelming, pulsing force that rapidly spread throughout her body; demanding Draculaura acknowledge, even subconsciously, or it would only grow worse the more the ghoul fought to feign - _ and maintain _ \- ignorance of injury.    
That probably wasn’t medically accurate, but it felt right.

“ _ Sorry, I’m just so… tired. _ ” Draculaura whispers, sinking towards the tantalising embrace of unconsciousness.

 

“Don’t be sorry, ghoul… if I’d gotten the sunburn you did, I’d probably lay right down here on the floor and sleep for a week while it healed.” Holt shrugs, she feels the movement, it’s sort of funny in an abstract way. “You can rest if you want, the Creatures say the paranormalmedics are on their way… I’ll wake you when they arrive. Fair?”

She mumbles something along the lines of, “ _ Yes _ ” and tries to slip into sleep; then snaps awake, pushing off of the DJ. He looks fairly surprised, unsure how to respond to the sudden movement.

“Um… Ula D?” he asks.

The vampire is momentarily occupied with regretting such a sudden movement, and for the first time gets a real good look at the angry sunburn marring her body; any flesh that had been exposed was now a deep magenta shade, angry and hot. Small patches of blisters  on her hands seemed the worst of it; flaring discomfort at any minor movement. She realised the gravity of the epidermal damage done to her immortal form… and immediately, Draculaura’s mind dipped into the dark world of imagining how she would have fared had Holt not covered her so swiftly. How the others affected must be coping…   
How-... oh. The thought returns, the one that bade she jerk upright when every inch of tired vampiric flesh would have the ghoul remain still; and she turns. Those wide pink eyes flashing upwards from her own pale pink flesh to the cool tones of the boo before her, frantically scanning what little she could see of her fiend. 

“Are you alright?” she asks after a moment when her roving eyes discerned nothing unusual save for the fact he was only wearing a tank top. Attempting to see much of anything, let alone discern significant detail in the ever-present gloom, was  only tiring her eyes. 

 

“Oh, yeah. I mean, NO. As in… ‘No, the sun-lamp things  were just sort of  _ warm _ and like, an energy-kick for us’. Not sure if Jacks told you but we’re  _ kind of fire-proof _ … and we know this, because back at that boring old normie school we attended before coming here, there was this one time in Home Economics - _ weird name, I know _ \- that involved a certain dork taking tray of cupcakes directly from the oven. Nothing big, right? Yeah, except he kinda did it without those weird glove things on, and a little old lady teacher basically had a minor heart attack over it…” rambles Holt, only trailing off awkweirdly at her disbelief-riddled stare.    
“I’m not kidding, Jackson got banned from ever taking Home Ec for, and I quote, ‘ _ playing pranks on feeble members of faculty _ ’, I found the entire report a couple of months back, it was _ hilarious. _ ”

 

“And you’re sure you’re okay?” Draculaura repeats, body feeling overheated and tight. As if the skin she was in would suddenly split, like a snake’s, any moment now... and she would emerge anew.

“Uh, yeah, totally. Heath, though… is running laps around the gym, because he’s so full of energy the sparkhead has no idea what to do with himself. Not like our cuz wouldn’t help if he could, but like, you can’t help people with burns, if you’re currently on fire and talking at a mile a minute. But  _ We’re  _ good, so don’t worry about us at all. It’s you, ghoul, who needs a little TLC from that werewolf boofiend of yours.” Holt pauses to look in all directions. “Haven’t actually seen him yet, but I know a lot of the Casketballers and Fearleaders were helping out with the injured… so he’s here  _ somewhere _ .”

He blinks, a slow smile encroaching on his features. “I bet if we did a really loud, really bad wolf-howl he’d come running…”

 

“Only to start a fight over it, with every other werewolf in the area as back-up.” She dismisses, laughing breathlessly and shuddering at the sensation. Today had been a bad day to try out her new,  _ ironically-titled _ , sun-dress. Everything, from head to toes, hurt indiscriminately. Why had this day seemed a good time to test out attire that covered a whole third less solar-sensitive skin than her usual outfits?

The ghoul is blinking rapidly, clearly staving off a nap she desperately needs; trying to wait for Clawd, or a paranormal medic to come along, and only maintaining consciousness by holding onto the elusive thread of confursation. Speaking of which, Draculaura focuses as the Party Manster idly rebuts her statement in a playful manner.   
  
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t matter,” Holt responds, shifting his position so she can more easily rest against him. “if the outcome you chose to picture was  _ Us  _ wi-…” 

 

“ _ Chose you two for WHAT? _ ” comes a confused snarl, announcing Clawd Wolf had entered the scream on a  _ very _ misleading note. He’s clearly eyeing the picture they make, and probably entertaining a few wildly incorrect ideas at current.

“Oh, you know…” the DJ gestures absently with the hand not holding Draculaura upright, “Whether the mental scream-nario, in which Ula D here pitted us against one another, had a pawsitive outcome for  _ Us _ -us… or  _ you _ .”

Clawd moves closer, confused frown deepening. “I-... What? Draulaura…?”

 

“I am alright, Clawd… do not worry.” She yawns, that familiar tiredness seeping back up over her again as the throb within her small shell intensified. “Holt covered me in time to stop me from getting too badly burned… so don’t… fight… while I just… rest my… eyes… a little…”

 

The minute she’s out, Clawd turns to Holt with wide eyes.   
“How bad is it really?” he asks, voice tremulous; not really able to make out much under the red jacket, but knowing enough about the ghoul to realise her tiredness probably wasn’t good.

“Ula D has a  _ wicked _ suntan, and she’s not gonna want to go near any kind of beach in the next little while… but she’s okay. The paranormalmedics are coming, apparently. They’ll check her over, then.” He shifts as Clawd kneels beside them, and they work together to carefully maneuver Draculaura into her boofiend’s arms.

Holt takes the opportunity to lift up one of the jacket flaps. Clawd hisses in sympathy at the sight of her deeply magenta skin.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought at first… but it’s not as bad as it could be. So there’s the positive.” He shrugs, covering her over again. “The negative is that I’m pretty sure they’ll suggest one main ingredient to kick-start her healing process, and I don’t think she’ll like it… but on the upside, I’m not the fiercely loyal boofiend who has to fight her on it.”

 

“I hate you.” Clawd deadpans. “But thanks, man… for acting as fast as you did. Even if we’re going to have to fight or something in future - _ and what was that about again _ ?”

 

“We’ll let Ula D tell you how we epically beat down your furry butt, in either form, in a certain ghoul’s imagination… when she wakes up.” Holt winks, standing slowly and stretching aching legs. “Whoa, we were down there for quite a while, weren’t we? I think about half of us is asleep right now…”

The statement followed by one of those full-body shudder-shakes, and the visual reminder of just how limber the pair are… when the DJ practically bends all the way to the ground, backwards. It’s rather disturbing to watch, really. Clawd averts his eyes and tries to brush away the thought that fighting them would probably be like attempting to throttle vertical  jelly.

 

“Awwwwwww-yeah,” sighs the party manster, finally getting feeling going again. “Hey, if you’re all good looking after Ula D, I’m gonna go see what else I can do to help. I know there was a crazy stampede of monsters through here a while back, ferrying the water monsters to… maybe the pool? I suppose they could use the locker room showers in a pinch, but that’d be less effective. Probably the pool.”

The Co-Captain of the Casketball team raises his eyebrows. “And you’re  _ Shrieklock Howlmes  _ all of a sudden, how?”

Which earns a benign glare back.    
Holt rolls the tiny sunsets he calls eyes, and huffs out an annoyed sigh. “Why does no one in this school think I have the same smarts as Jacky-boy? I mean, if he can-...” 

But Clawd never found out exactly what ability the unconventional twins shared, because right at that second his sister burst onto the scene rather explosively. Clawdeen was looking all directions, even towards the ceiling as she called for her youngest sibling, well, theoretical  _ siblings _ . Let’s be honest, the other ghoul was at the Wolf Household as often as the rest of them.

The cry of, “HOWLEEN! TWYLA! SOUND OFF IF YOU CAN HEAR ME!” echoed obscenely loudly in the near-silence that filled every nook and cranny of the school. Now most of the affected had fallen unconscious, or been provided fierce-st aid and a comforting presence. 

 

After every rapid-fire repetition, Clawdeen would hold every muscle in her powerful, fangtastic body utterly rigid; ears swiveling, listening intently for even the faintest of responses. And when none was received, she called again. Moving a few more feet down the corridor.

So engrossed in her search, she just about slams into Holt; thankfully bypassing inadvertently falling over her brother, and beast fiend-slash-future-sister-in-claw. The fierce fashionista managing to stop only a hair’s breadth from the boo, who obligingly leant back far enough that there was no accidental headbutting, and smiled at her reassuringly.

“Oh my ghoul, Holt, you can’t just stand in the middle of the corridor like that and-... is that Draculuara?!” The verbal floodtide halts the second Clawdeen laid eyes on the tiny too-pink vampire ghoul she’d known since puppy-hood; all wrapped up snug in the DJ’s red jacket. Practically cradled by a downcast-looking Clawd. “Is she-...?” she asks in a small voice.

“She’ll be okay, I think.” Her sibling answers, ears down. “But it’s not good, she’s pretty burned. Holt covered her in time, though… so she’s not… not like some of the others.”

 

“If you wanna stay with her, I’ll go looking for your missing mix’n’match twins…?” Offered the party manster Clawdeen had clearly forgotten was still there, because she jumped a fraction before regaining her dignity.

“I-... yeah, thanks. I’ll make you something with sequins on it if you find ‘em both safe and sound.” The she-wolf sighs distractedly, reaching out a hand to lift the fabric cocooning her closest, oldest, fiend; and immediately shrinking back at the findings.

 

“No need,” calls a rather loud, unanticipated voice. Toralei striding through the mess of bodies, Howleen being shepherded before her and a rather anxious looking harpy boo trailing behind. “I have the missing furbaby right here, but can’t say I’ve come across the shadow ghoul since yesterday.”

“Howleen!” Clawdeen shouts, throwing herself to her feet and aiming to hug the youngest of the Wolf siblings. Only to be immediately rejected, as said youngest daughter takes a step back and to the left; arms wrapped about her torso more tightly than before.

The elder she-wolf frowns, “Howleen, are you hurt? Is that why you’re clutching your ribs? Show me… I can help…” Though the tone turns soothing, it garners nothing more than a silent shake of Howleen’s head.

Instead, the ghoul glances up at the extinguished lights, and slowly lets go of her own torso. Reaching up to unzip the jacket, and glide the zipper down with excruciating care that put every one of the older students present on edge; waiting to find out what was wrong.

As soon as the black leather jacket was opened, it became apparent that the insides were a roiling mass of shadows. Now slowly seeping out and taking shape as the missing Twyla Boogeyman, a cause for great relief amongst her siblings and fellow students.

Howleen shrugs, “When the lights came on, I couldn’t think of where else to put her so Twyla’d be safe.”

 

“It was a pretty good idea, actually… and I really like whatever soap you’re using, Howleen. Looks like I’m gonna have to steal that next time I’m over.” Twyla responds, trying to paranormalise the stitchuation. The ghostly shadow-ghoul rubs her arms a few times, as if renewing sensation there, and sighs contentedly at the sudden freedom.

Sure, she could compact herself into any shadow… but having to do it in under a second or risk being barbecued out of existence? No thanks.    
Overall, the ghoul ached a little, but on the positive side, every inch of her was accounted for.

 

“Well, at least that’s one mystery solved.” Clawdeen expounded, for all their sakes. “Now, if they could just solve the where-are-the-paranormalmedics problem, that would be  _ great _ .”   
  
Her gore-geous face marred by a deep frown as the ghoul questioned just what exactly could be holding up the amboolances; especially since they all knew the nearest station was only a handful of minutes away. And the call for professional help had gone out almost simultaneously with the loss of light throughout the school. So, if trigulocalcunometry had taught the she-wolf anything about speed and distance… by all her calculations, they should have made it here already.

A loud crash from outside made many present flinch or cover downed monsters with their own bodies instinctively, as it rumbled and echoed through the corridors like a veritable wave of sound. Drawing sudden attention to the fact that a certain Magicks professor, one infamous Baba Yaga, had conjured up a minor maelstrom over the school.

Which, when it was really pondered upon, suddenly explained the hold up of scare-mergency services. Torrential rain was practically slamming into the ground in sheets, probably making it pretty damn difficult to drive about in for a radius of several blocks. An unintended side-effect of the cloud-cover curse… but hey, at least it was fulfilling the function for which it was conjured  _ -blotting out the sunlight _ . At least transferring the river and sea water monsters would be less of a shock to their already compromised systems; heh, give it ten minutes and they’d be better off outside in the downpour, than in the school pool. 

 

Speaking of which...

“Someone should really check in with the guys and ghouls down in the school pool,” Clawdeen interjected into the silence that had fallen as all present contemplated various chaotic-stitchuation-related circumstances. “I’d go,  _ but _ …”

“You don’t wanna leave Ula D right now, got it. We, on the other appendage, are totally free and can do an in-spectre-tion.” Holt responds, readjusting the iCoffin so it wouldn’t slide out of the manster’s striking black-and-purple pinstripe pants. It was usually stored in his jacket, less chance of getting disconnected if the wires had covering; and the new placement had meant the entire time he’d been crouched with Draculaura, the neat piece of tech had been slowly imprinting a replica into the flesh of his abdomen and thigh. 

 

Twyla raises a hand. “I could go too, I mean… I’m not really contributing to anything standing around, so…”

It is unclear whose glare locks onto the shadow-borne ghoul first, but both the Wolf sisters’ eyes narrow as they trap Twyla in their sights; with all the subtlety of a heat-seeking missile acquiring a target. Howleen’s hand already wrapped about the boogeyghoul’s bicep, in a way that they both knew she could slip out of if she wanted to… and also knew Twyla would never do that to her fiend.

“Uh-uh, no way. You’re staying here with the rest of the family until the amboolances arrive… and then, if - _ and only if, mind you _ \- the paranormalmedics clear you, then you two can run off to do your own thing.” Clawdeen informed; her words imbued with the blazing inner fury channelled by all older siblings, when riled into a protective fervour. 

“But-...” Twyla momentarily attempts to protest, but concedes in light of the fact she can visibly see the counter-argument brewing in her pseudo-older sister’s posture. Her shoulders drop. “Okay. Staying here,  _ yay _ . I’m good with that. Right here, then.” 

She proceeds to sit down on the tiles, near Clawd and Draculaura. Howleen drops down to rest beside her, trying not to feel too smug that for once someone else felt the protective wrath Clawdeen was fully capable of dishing out. 

 

Only two people on the planet did it better… their mumster, and one Clawd Wolf. 

He had utterly  _ mastered _ the art of getting you to not-do something insanely dangerous or ridiculous, with words alone; and unlived in full awareness of the irony of this ability. The Wolf family had yet to let the boo unlive down the time he, Heath and Manny went on “Or Die Trying!”.    
Which was, to date, the most reckless thing anyone in their litter had attempted in the last five monster-years. A record previously held by an older brother, Clawton, who had decided that cooking via conventional means was far too slow; and attempted to harness the sun, via mirrors and other means, to bake various dishes. Resulting in the Wolf household catching fire. Twice.   
Cookies came out rather nice, though. Even if you were instantly blinded no matter which window you looked out of, and periodically received a complete tan through fur, while closing curtains or getting the mail. Sometimes you just had to take the good with the bad.

  
  


“Or I could go, instead?” Offered Porter, unexpectedly. The poltergeist boo having disengaged from the quickly-approaching Jinafire Long, and caught the tail-end of their confursation. “I mean, she kinda needs your help with something, and I could just detour right through all these pesky walls and be back in like, half the time it would take you Solids to do it.”

“ _ Would you? _ ” Clawd asks, tone lowered to something louder than a whisper but nowhere near his paranormal speaking voice. The Casketball Co-Captain’s ears are pricked up, eyes focused on the lime-green boo hovering several feet off the floor and directly before them.

“ _ Of corpse! _ ” Porter smiles, voice matching the weremanster’s in pitch. He aims for a nearby wall that would take the paintergeist in a straight line to the pool, but  pauses momentarily to turn back. Expression quizzical, he asked, “ _ Um, just one question… why are we whispering, dude _ ?”

The werewolf’s expression was so comical, the paintergeist nearly fell through the floor as he tried to stifle the giggles that threatened to erupt; potentially disturbing the sleeping, wounded, vampire in the group’s midst. Porter barely manages to cram a lid on it; taking a moment to just enjoy the feeling of freedom and levity that came from an unanticipated instance of humour, during a crisis.  After all… from the minute he’d snuck out last night, to the present second ticking by, it seemed everything had been getting steadily more dire; it was almost a revolutionary concept that the boo even remembered how to laugh.

If this was how adulthood felt, then the Paintergeist steadfastly rejected the concept.    
Too grim, too dark and soul-crushing. No thank you.

He snaps to attention as he realises Clawd is still looking at him, seeming to be waiting for some kind of response.   
  
“Huh? Sorry, I was kind of… lost in my own little world a minute, I’ll just…” He gestures at the wall. “Yeah. Be back soon.”

 

“I said,  _ are you alright, du- _ ... aaaaaaaaaaaaand he’s gone.” Clawd sighs, frustrated. The expression on the other boo’s face set off some random, instinctual impulse to find out what was going wrong for the poltergeist. And maybe, how to fix it.

 

“Some of our fiends and roommates are missing,” informs Jinafire as she joins them. Nodding to some present, smiling at others encouragingly and allowing her pale green eyes to rove over what little could be seen of Draculaura; assessing the damage.  “River Styxx did not return home this morning, and in searching for her… another member of the boarding house went missing. Now Kiyomi Haunterly, too, cannot be located. It was an incredibly disheartening occurrence for us all… but then, we walked in upon this scream of devastation.”

Seeing the chinese dragon look uncharacteristically crestfallen, and rather as if she were in need of a hug; Holt puts a casual arm over her golden shoulders. If nothing else, he was an incredibly tactile monster, where his twin was... well, not ‘not’, but definitely ‘more selective’. [ _ Which was the excuse Jackson was using, for why he instinctively punched Heath, after an unexpected late-night ‘attack-hug’ from their cousin, a few months back. Which, as far as Holt saw it, was totally a fair call; didn’t stop him teasing his Jekyll-side about it, though. _ ]

He is rewarded by the slightest movement in which Jinafire presses closer, before signalling to be released. Respectfully, and slightly fearfully  _ -given he’d seen her training in the fearnasium once- _ Holt retracts his hand. 

Jinafire squares herself, weight shifting forwards upon the balls of her feet, as if she were in readying herself to strike; though more likely it was merely a supernatural stance for the ghoul to undertake. Instinctive in times of stress. 

“Right, yes… I had something else to speak to you of.” She blinks, formulating the words before speaking them. “Both Ghoulia and Frankie worked together to short out the power grid and shut off the lights, but the effort has left them both quite tired. Concerningly, Frankie seems to have almost completely drained her charge, though when I attempted to retrieve the emergency power-pack from within her locker… it was not there.”

“Indeed,” Jinafire continues, “It appears that someone had broken the lock and taken the item, recently. Several lockers have been damaged, including - _ I believe _ \- the ones assigned to Draculaura, Clawd, Cleo and Toralei.”

“Wait, so when you were there… the one about three from Frankie’s… was it damaged?” Holt suddenly interjects. Thoughtful expression slipping over his features like a mask.

She thinks for a long moment. “I-... I’m afraid I must report it was also damaged. Though the books within seemed to be quite intact, from visual observation alone.”

“Damn,” he exhaled sharply in frustration. “I mean, like, it sucks about our locker but we had Frankie’s  _ Other _ -other charger in it… not to mention the mini superchargers Jacks and Ghoulia whipped up for our iCoffin. They’re Frankie-compatible, because she liked to top them up for us… kind of thought they could have been reverse-engineered there for a second.”

 

“Okay, how did Jackson take control of Holt’s body?” Howleen stage-whispered to Twyla, in an effort to break the dense, contemplative silence that had fallen. Everymonster trying their best to recall any device that might prove helpful in this stitchuation. 

It earned her a half-heartedly withering glare from the manster, and a giggle from her beast ghoulfiend. 

“I’m going to remember that quip when your birthday bash rolls around, and you want to book the hottest DJ in town…” he threatens, tone obscenely friendly and bordering on sing-song. Operetta would have honestly slugged him in the shoulder pretty hard for using it. 

The party manster laughing as the youngest she-wolf’s jaw drops in horror at the very idea of how lackluster a musicless party would turn out. She growls back, scrunching up her nose a little like a puppy; it was adorable. Twyla resists saying so.

 

As the mild momentary distraction from the severe stitchuation at-appendage fades out, the group is left pensive once more. Several ideas strike some, and are dismissed quickly; others come up blank and feel the slow trickle of time through their fingers. 

“Hey Clawd…” Starts the blue boo present, “...did you drive here today?”

Instantly, everyone gets where he’s coming from.

“Yeah, yeah I did!” Clawd responds, expression bright, open and hopeful for the first time in what felt like years. “Good thinking, bro… but we’re gonna need more than just the one battery, she’s a, what do you call Frankie? A  _ ‘high-powered hottie _ ’. Who else has a vehicle at the school?”

“I know Heath has one, finally… and maybe Scarah. Ghoulia’s got that sweet moped of hers, but I don’t think it’s capable of giving the juice we need, even in tandem with the others.” Adds Clawdeen, ruminating on the topic at-appendage. Also thinking that Ghoulia might lose her incredibly-talented mind if someone damaged her beloved bike by, say, yanking out the motor.

 

“Heath’s running in circles around the fearnasium, burning off the excess solar energy, last I saw. I’ll go grab the keys off him, and someone else can do the honours of running out in that,” Toralei pauses to add an involuntary full-body shudder at the word, “ _ rainstorm _ . Too much water for my liking.”

“Alright, so who’s seen Scarah recently?” Clawd questions th e assembled.

Jinafire raises a hand, “She is by the entrance with Gory Fangtell, as I recall. We can speak to her on the way out, and purrhaps consult with Ghoulia as to how we may best proceed.”

 

“Okay, then let’s do this. You guys stay here with Ula D, and we’ll be back soon as we can.” Holt beams optimistically, winking at the assembled. 

Toralei rolls her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, ‘Go Team Us!’ and all that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a walking candlestick to go and purrsuade into handing over his keys. See you at the entrance in five.”

 

So saying, she turned and, somehow breaking the known laws of physics, managed to  _ saunter hastily _ from sight; it was truly a sight to behold due to how impossible it seemed. While Jinafire and Holt turned in the exact opposite direction, towards the main entrance, and took off at a rapid, not-quite-jogging pace. Leaving the Wolf clan and their all-but-adopted adopted member to curl protectively about Draculaura, and wait for help to arrive.

 

-)0(-

 


	12. All Stood Aghast

She pounced on the fire elemental without any forewarning.

“HOLY MOTHER OF FIREBA-... TORALEI?!” Heath’s scream managed to reverberate around the currently-unoccupied-save-for-them fearnasium. His eyes and hair were ablaze; skin hot even through the pun-laden cotton shirt he wore. 

Too hot.    
Her palms were burning, as if the werekat had decided to wholeheartedly embrace a just-boiled jug of hot water. Or maybe high-five the sun. Both were not far off the mark, realistically and metaphorically.

She jumped back quickly, putting distance between them. Gratified at least that the heat being exuded wasn’t melting their surroundings, or their clothes. She could only imagine how well Mr Hack would take arriving in the fear-nasium to find the pair standing in a charred and melted multi-purpose court, clothing having met a similar fate.

Then again, she understood everyone in that family shopped for fire-proof attire. More cost-effective that way. 

Her own clothes though… a quick visual inspection revealed nothing melted or amiss.    
Lucky. For him, that is.   
  
She snaps back to the stitchuation at hand.   
“Your keys!” She repeats, “I need the keys to your car… we need to yank the battery out to keep your favourite patchwork fiend unalive. So hand them over!”

 

“Oh sure, they’re just over there with my jacke-... what? What’s wrong with Frankie?!” The expression on the manster’s face went from casual acceptance of Toralei basically car-jacking him in the middle of the school, to complete panic in under a second.

She sighed, cocking her hip and levelling the boo an impatient glare the likes of which he’d probably never see again, before answering.    
“Long story short, the little battery pack on legs, and the school’s resident ghoul genius, shorted out the lights… but it kind of backfired. Frankie’s drained, and someone broke into a lot of lockers to steal anything that might look like a power-pack… which is totally suspicious, when you think about it.” She paused, suddenly realising that it actually was really an odd coincidence.

Toralei shakes her head, “Anyway, the only thing Holt could come up with was to use car batteries to try and jumpstart her before she drains too far… because we don't have the equipment or electricity to pull the whole time-travel, lost-grandaddy-Stein, thing we did last time she nearly undied for good. Now give me your damn keys.”

 

Only fast feline reflexes stopped them from slamming into her face.   
The fearless werekat leader grins, widely. “Good boo. Now… are you going to keep doing your little laps, or do you want to maybe help your cousins get the batteries?”

“Um, Toralei…? Pretty sure open-flames and car batteries are a bad mix.” He responds, tone tremulous, as if expecting retribution for pointing out the obvious. “Heh, just… just saying…”

 

“You think I’m unaware of this?” She cocks an eyebrow imperiously, checking her nails. It’s a rather impressive display of nonchalance. “Professor Yaga practically has a monsoon raging outside… if you can retain even a flick of flame in what’s pouring down out there… then I will personally kiss you on the mouth in front of Spectra and her ever-ready camera.”

She knew that just the challenge alone, and certainly not the prize, would lure Heath out there. 

 

“A-alright, let’s go!” He shouts in response, snagging his sports jacket in a single, blurred motion; before charging out the door. Toralei sighs, silently asks the universe why everyone around her was so awkweird, and followed close on the fire elemental’s heels.

 

-)0(-

 

“Honestly, I liked this plan when there was more _ hypothetical  _ rain, than  _ ACTUAL _ rain, involved!” Holt shouts over the downpour, half-hidden under the bonnet of Clawd and Clawdeen’s shared car. Music pounds in his ears, adding to the auditory onslaught, as Jinafire stands behind, holding an umbrella up to shield them both as best she can. 

Scarah had made them take it, along with the Banshee’s car-keys. Stating that, otherwise, Holt’s iCoffin would get saturated… and it would take additional time to explain the stitchuation to Jackson; so they might as well just take the umbrella Scarah offered, or so help the ghoul, she’d mentally command them to.

Of corpse, they all knew she wouldn’t… even if she could.    
But it was strangely indicative of the day they were all experiencing, seeing how riled up Scarah was; when paranormally she was the calm voice of reason amongst the crazy goings-on of the school’s student-dead-body. Not unlike Jinafire, really.

The dragon ghoul had found a non-sunburned portion of the  _ Bean Si _ to lay a comforting hand upon, in recognition of both Scarah’s contribution, and the strain she was clearly under. Telepathy was a gift, and a curse; especially if one happened to be in the midst of a crisis, wherein a thousand panicked minds were consistently babbling at all times.

Pleas, cries for assistance, a litany of curses at various gods… it all rose in a dizzying haze, above the accumulated bodies. But the Bean si managed to cope, somehow.    
Possibly through the intense deadication she showed in tending to Gory, and a handful of other nearby casualties. Whom Neighthan had managed to ease the suffering of, but not heal entirely; before moving on to the multitude of others clamouring for his aid.

 

As it stood, all those who had mobilised quickly and taken charge felt a great weariness in their bones. Well, it was a Thursday, after all… 

 

_ Of all days for a crisis… a Thursday. It just didn’t seem dramatic enough, really. _   
Holt snorts, trying to brush away the hilarious thought before it made him lose the thin thread of concentration he had going right now. Automechanics was decidedly _ not  _ a thing he had spent a great deal of time researching; so right now, the boo was relying on some second-hand know-how he - _ or possibly Jackson, their memories sometimes got mixed up on occasion _ \- had learned from their Hyde Mother.    
She was predominantly in charge of heavy-lifting, auto-repairs, any experiment that could potentially be fatal to her humanoid counterpart (Mother Jekyll), and stopping their sons from doing anything too ridiculous or potentially fatal. The latter happened more frequently than either party would like to admit; but sometimes, you got bored, and thought maybe microwaving a grenade in the name of Mad Science was a good idea.

They were still grounded over that incident. The kitchen had never truly recovered.

 

It was a vague memory, watching the Hyde Parental unit switch out a flat battery in their car for a newly-charged prototype. Holt frowns, thinking they probably could have super-charged Frankie-Fine into running laps with their cousin in the fearnasium, if he’d driven to school that morning instead of hitching a lift with Draculaura. The prototype battery was pretty clawesome, and Frankie’s parents had had something to do with the die-sign. Maybe for the express purpose of keeping their baby-ghoul safe.

Well, he kind of hoped not, or they were likely to unkill him for messing up the one opportunity he ever hoped to have, to use it for it’s unofficial purpose. That would be a heck of a way to go, though. Memorable. A unique epitaph on their collective headstone.

 

With a click, the battery slides free and into his hands. Holt steps back under the safety of the umbrella, handing the heavy block of pent-up electricity to Jinafire, before awkweirdly shutting the hood. Which was a task that involved the DJ basically bending his entire body as far from the umbrella’s edge as possible - _ but simultaneously extending his arms as far as they’d go across the brief gap between rain shield’s edge and open bonnet _ \- to get the job done. 

It must have provided a hilarious visual, because the freaky-fab and normally quite studious Jinafire, had laughter bubbling directly into his right ear. Which, yeah, fair point… he must look ridiculous.

“One down!” He shouts, turning about and taking back the battery. “Where-to next?”

 

“Over there,” Jinafire calls back over the thundering deluge and his cranked-up music. She points directly at a small green vehicle half-way down the student parking lot, about three cars from where Heath and Toralei were shivering and swearing as they attempted to convince the elemental’s car to divulge its battery to them.

So much for not wanting to get her fur wet.    
Toralei looked blurry, like a watercolour painting, from this distance; but even so, it was plain to see how close the ghoul was to tossing Heath aside and yanking out the item herself. She probably had had a lot of practice, given she grew up on the streets.   
On the upside, her rap-sheet had recently been erased by the student superheroes, Ghoul Genius and Bowtie Lord. Holt wondered if she knew yet… or if they were saving it up to tell her later, as a surprise of sorts.

 

Jinafire slipped an arm through his, and he shifted the battery into the hand attached, ensuring that it would not get wet as they moved. As a unit, the pair dashed across the parking lot; pressed close and shielding their cargo at all costs, under the umbrella.

“If you would not mind,” Jinafire entreated after a minute, her voice raised to combat the all-encompassing thundering of the rain about them. “I would like to be the one to liberate the battery this time?”

He smiled in response, “Sure ghoul. Let’s do a good old  _ switch-er-oo _ … trade you the keys for that Jina- _ fine _ -looking umbrella you got going there?”

She swats him gently, grinning back as they make the exchange and he takes a moment to rearrange his hold on both battery and umbrella, before nodding in readiness. The pair sidle closer to the driver’s side door, and he valiantly attempts to shield the ghoul as well as she had him only moments previous, while she opens it and locates the button, lever, or toggle that would unlatch the bonnet.

The ghoul does get rather wetter than Holt anticipates, but it was mostly the fault of run-off.  _ He’s sticking to that story _ . Totally not because it’s difficult to balance a battery in one arm and try to control a rather flighty umbrella in the other, during a deluge of rain so torrential it was hard to think. How the hex had Jinafire managed to make it look so effortless, before?

A certain manster was starting to wonder if the ghoul was secretly capable of bench-pressing Them, or maybe a bus, or something; considering the minor aerobics workout required to maintain hold on the perpetually pulling-away rainshield. Said ghoul touched his arm briefly, to get the DJ’s flagging attention. Nodding in the opposite direction, as the hood opened wide like a monster mouth at the dentist’s; and managing to encompass the sudden mad dash their cousin, and Toralei, were making towards the school. 

Holt could only assume the black bundle clutched tight to his cousin’s drenched chest was their hastily procured battery, swathed protectively in the elemental’s  _ current _ school jacket. They knew for a fact it was his sixth - _ this year _ . Heath couldn’t quite contain his spontaneous emotional combustion, just yet.

Wordlessly, the pair move to the front of the car. Jinafire leaning in immediately, and Holt covering them both as best the manster could under the circumstances. Occasionally, her tail would tap against his ankle, urging him to take a step forwards, backwards or to either side; in time, and tune, with the shifting of the howling winds. And therefore, meeting perfectly the angle at which the rain came at the pair. He was in awe of the ghoul’s ability to multitask.

How she knew, with her entire upper body under the hood of a car, he had no idea. Clearly, the only logical explanation was that Jinafire Long was magic, somehow. As in, ‘ _ made of’ _ or  _ ‘soon to be receiving their letter to attend Bogwarts with Barry Rotter’ _ , kind of magic.

Though this ability to predict potential drenchings before they occurred was second only to the speed and diligence in which the ghoul managed to extract the battery. She turned, and raised an eyebrow at his somewhat surprised, awed expression.

“What? I was raised with seven brothers, and not a single one of them knew how cars worked… so I was always playing automechanic for the family vehicles.” Jinafire smiles, shutting the car’s hood without looking.

“Hey!” Holt says, in a mock-scandalised tone. “Using your tail is cheating, now get out there and awkweirdly fumble at the lid with your arms, like a  _ real _ monster!”

 

She actually snorts. “You are a delight to work with, Holt. Never change.”   
  


“Heh, well, ‘de-lighting’ is the whole reason we’re out here fishing for power-up packs. I mean, if you really think about it…” He quips, as they both wriggle about under the tiny shelter; attempting to place the batteries in a position least likely to get them saturated on the trip back. Managing, and succeeding, only vaguely.

“This is not ideal, but we must proceed, I am afraid.” The fashionista ghoul sighs, pressed up close alongside the boo. Each of them holding a battery in the arm closest to the other’s; umbrella sheltering roughly half of each of the monsters; but thankfully, all the important parts.

“Let’s do it!” He shouts, the slight zing of the earlier energy boost still coursing through the part-elemental. She holds up three fingers in response, slowly dropping them to indicate the moment in which they would run for the entrance.

 

Three.

 

Two.

 

One.

 

With a whoop, Holt and Jinafire dart through the rain-slicked world; feeling puddles and errant raindrops soak through their clothing with every step. Each splashing footfall bringing them closer, and yet closer still, to Monster High… until, with a startle of moderate surprise, the pair realised they had already bounded up the entrance-stairs.

Skidding to a slick halt just before they managed to collide with, or actively fall over, their waterlogged accomplices. Heath and Toralei were arranged in haphazard, sodden piles on the floor; panting and shivering, as Skelita and Scarah moved between them and their original charges. 

 

Frankie was propped against a locker close-by, still worryingly unlifeless.  _ Seemingly carried here by…? _ Ah,  _ Robecca _ . 

The Skulltimate Rollermaze champion hovered anxiously nearby, assisting Ghoulia with a make-shift series of leads and complex wires that snaked in every direction. A battery pack sat innocuously beside the zombie ghoul genius, as she worked; a familiar, thankfully dry, Monster High sports jacket discarded a little ways from it.    
At their entrance, Robecca turns, clockwork eyes widening in surprise and delight at their cargo. She zips over to them; rocket-boots clearly cranked up to their maximum velocity and height as she sails over the heads of all around them, without disturbing so much as a hair on the heads of those below her, despite the breath-taking speed involved in every action.

“Fangtastic, these are exactly what we need to give Frankie a good old jump-start!” She decrees, alleviating the pair of their cargo. “Feel free to collapse in a sodden heap over there with the others… don’t want you getting too close and getting electrocuted now, do we?”

 

Ghoulia called something out, and Robecca immediately returned to her side.    
Hands diving in and out of the mess of wires, eyes darting between Frankie’s prone form and the materials they had on-appendage. It was soothing, almost, to see them work. Like they knew exactly what had to happen, and how to do it; everything could be placed in their court, for the moment, and it would all turn out just fine.

 

As ideal as sitting down for a moment sounded, Jinafire and Holt knew they had to do something about theschool’s _ unofficial doorstops _ before they collectively collapsed. It was one thing for them to take a spill out of saturated exhaustion and previously unseen roadblocks, and quite another to have paranormalmedics inconvenienced by Heath and Toralei blocking their main entry and exit point to Monster High.

Holt fists the back of their cousin’s shirt and begins to shuffle him backwards, as Jinafire returns the sodden umbrella to Scarah. The ghoul gracefully turning to pick Toralei up without apparent effort, and following in the DJ’s footsteps to place her down by the two boos. Realistically, it had only been a few feet to the immediate right, but the entranceway was now clear for whomsoever needed access in the near-future.

 

“ _ <Everyone please step back. Attempted recharge in Three… Two… One.> _ ” Ghoulia shouted, and on the last number a blinding, crackling flash exploded from that direction. “ _ <Initial attempt partially-successful. Re-attempt in Three… Two… One.> _ ”

The second flash rode in on the after-images of the first, blinding many all over again.    
Though this attempt yielded greater results than previous attempts; as Frankie Stein let out a high-pitched whooping sound, swiftly followed by a yawn, and attempted stretching.

 

Those to-undie-for blue and green eyes blinked open innocently, not fully comprehending why so many ghouls and mansters in her field of vision seemed utterly delighted she’d fallen asleep in class. Unguarded expression visibly registering the moment the ghoul realised she wasn’t taking an involuntary mid-lesson nap; and purrhaps some of that morning’s events catching up with her. 

“Oh… OH! Ghoulia, did we get the lights?” Frankie says, latching on to her last coherent thought as she shoots upright to stare at the zombie-ghoul genius. Heedless of the myriad of wires and clamps connected to her bolts; and only noticing them a moment later.

“ _ <Indeed we did, Frankie. Though it shorted out your systems, as well as the power grid. I am afraid this was the only rudimentary solution that could be accessed, given the circumstances.> _ ” Ghoulia informed, petting her kindly on the arm.

 

“But what about my emergency power-pack, it’s in my locker?” The ghoul asks, frowning down at the effort her fiends had apparently gone to on her behalf. When there seemed a far easier remedy to any potential ‘significant-loss-of-charge’ stitchuations.

Those closest looked to one another, before Jinafire’s calm tone informed her of the scream-nario in which the mint-green ghoul found herself.   
“Someone broke into the lockers, and stole your portable recharge pack… as well as anything that might have functioned as a surrogate recharge item, Frankie. We are not sure who, why, or how they knew to take it… but several lockers have been destroyed, presumably by whomsoever has orchestrated the solar attack.”

 

“How long was I-...?” Frankie asks, clutching her head and feeling rather dizzied by it all.

“Not sure, Frankie-fine,” Holt answers soothingly, leaning against a locker and trying not to think about the feel of the wet socks he currently wore. “It’s been a long while since the lights went out, and yet here we all are waiting for professional assistance to turn up… got so boring in here some of us decided to go on a scavenger hunt in the rain.”

He winks at her as Frankie’s wide-eyes take in the  _ drenched-and-totally-not-shivering _ fangtastic-foursome, the raging storm outside whose slanted rain only just fails to make it through the open entrance, and then to the calamity of batteries and cables piled about her body. It all clicks together, like an elusive puzzle taking form.

“Oh.” Is all the ghoul manages.

 

“Hey,” interjects Heath, pushing himself upright on an elbow and concentrating hard. “I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up… but like, does anyone else hear that familiar wailing or am I going crazy?”

Everyone conscious pauses to listen.

 

“You’re not… crazy… only your… fashion sense.” Adds Gory, startling just about everyone out of their bones, as many had assumed her insensate a long time before. She adds a helpful, “Sirens… coming.”

 

Indeed, a great cacophony of sound was speeding hastily towards the school; sirens wailing at full-ball - _ even above the wind, rain and thunder _ . Many present had the sudden urge to start crying in relief… but it wasn’t over yet.

As the sound grew near-deafening, multiple amboolances appearing suddenly outside, and the collective screaming of sirens echoing through Monster High’s many corridors; the came, in counterpoint, a sudden explosive shattering. Accompanied by a startled, pained, scream… and then silence.

 

Holt and Jinafire are on their feet and running towards the sound, as Paranormalmedics swarm through the entrance and begin the task of sorting most injured, from least. Robecca offering to guide them to the water-monster casualties, and their current carers.

 

Ahead, in the vicinity of their vague destination, the pair hear Spectra scream a name. The sound not yet trailing off before a door banged, providing an auditory clue of the direction in which they needed to head; fashion guru and DJ immediately rounding the corridor, past a shocked Cleo de Nile, and the ghoul she practically cradled in her ancient, bandaged arms.

Straight into the First-Floor Boos Bathroom, almost colliding with Deuce.    
Arriving just as the gorgon boo shouted a surprised, yet concerned, “BILLY?!”

 

Invisibilly lay prone on the floor, shards of mirror flecked his body and the floor about the boo. He was fully visible, and muttering in unconsciousness. 

Spectra floated a few feet from him, wringing her hands and seeming utterly distant. As if she existed in this moment, but was not unliving it; almost, one could say, as if she were re-unliving a memory. 

Deuce knelt down beside the boo, listening intently a moment, and eventually pulling back with a frown barely concealed behind his darkened shades.   
“He just keeps saying, ‘ _ kiyomirror, in, kiyomirror, in _ ’ over and over again.” He informs the rest of the room before looking back down; thereby missing the glance Spectra and Jinafire shared at the infearmation. “I don’t think it’s safe to move him right now… you stay here and I’ll grab a paranormalmedic.”

 

The Co-Captain of the Casketball team had disappeared out the door in a heartbeat; leaving behind a silent room filled with more questions than answers. Holt was staring at the shattered mirror’s frame, as if it might hold a clue… but clued in to the fact the ghouls were staring at each other, and was a split-second away from asking what kind of epiphany the pair had had… when the pieces came together for him too.

 

Kiyomirror, in.   
  


Kiymoi. Mirror. In.

 

“ _ Kiyomi was in the mirror… _ ?” He said, in mild disbelief. “And she shattered it… How? Why? Seriously, I am drawing blanks here, slaydies, any ideas?”

 

“I don’t know,” Spectra’s voice quavered, the ghoul seriously stressed out. “This isn’t supposed to happen. You have to be vengeful to possess, to break things like that. Kiyomi isn’t like that at all!”

 

“We will figure it out, Spectra.” Jinafire reassured. “Perhaps Professor Yaga will know what has happened. But for now, we must see to Invisibilly and the others, who need our assistance. Be strong for them, just a little longer.”

“I can do that.” The ghostly ghoul said, giving a watery smile in response. Repeating, almost to herself,  _ “I can do that.” _

 

The door slams open with a melodramatic, “Never fear, help is here!”    
A rather buff Harpy womanster barges in, Deuce tailing closely behind; and immediately drops to the floor, checking Invisibilly’s vitals and asking all the usual questions like name, date of birth or death, abilities, allergies, what happened, and known weaknesses. Standard enough. 

Spectra had most of the answers.    
She probably knew more about the inhabitants of Monster High, than each individual knew about themselves. Which was fangtastic in times of crises such as these.

 

“Alright kids, we’re gonna need to clear some space in here for the incoming gurney… so if you could all step outside, that’d be great. Good job, today, though. Tough stitchuation from what I’m hearing. Good job.” Smiled the Paranormalmedic, ushering them out and returning to Billy immediately. 

 

In every direction, medical profearsionals assessed, addressed wounds and generally prepped injured students for transport. It was a writhing sea of paranormalmedics, gurneys, stabilising casualties and relieved Fierce-st Responders finally falling into exhausted heaps.  Too tired in the now for any of that emotional nonsense. Though definitely allotting time in future to having break-downs, freak-outs, and generally allowing the trauma to seep in for the first time since it all started.

 

Creatures would be along soon to sweep them all into… wherever they’d put them, until the buses Mr Hack kept shouting about, could arrive to ferry the remaining student-dead-body home. 

 

Tiny Draculuara was wheeled past the quartet on a gurney; still wrapped tightly in Holt’s jacket, apparently of her own volition. She was burned, but unalive. That’s all that mattered.

The DJ breathed a sigh of relief, and Deuce clapped him on the shoulder. 

There weren’t really words for how they all felt right now, but contact sufficed. Even if he knew it must be really uncomfortable for the cold-blooded boo to willingly get close to someone as saturated as he was right now. The chill must be radiating, by now.

 

In mere moments, even students hidden in the depths of the school, or in the pool, had been loaded up and taken out to one of the never-ending array of amboolances. It was an organised sort of madness… and silence gaped ominously in its wake.

No one could do anything more than exist in this moment… and wait for an instruction on what to do next. Now that the chaos had subsided.

For this instant in space and time, at least.

 

-)0(-

 

Across town, one Lillith Van Hellscream stared down at her illicitly-begotten telecommunications device, in an abnormal degree of utter panic. Her otherwise formidable mind apparently completely unable to formulate words for a response; which was rather illogical considering the text itself  _ -from the perspective of any passing party without due context-  _ appeared entirely innocuous in nature. 

Yet, the simplistic message sent chills of fear through the young woman.   
It seemed, that despite the expedient warning she had sent early that morning… it had been, ultimately,  _ useless _ .

 

And she hated everything in that moment; frustration swelling up within her so violently it felt as if her skin would split. Why… why was she always _ wrong _ ? Always too helpless to assist?  _ Was she destined to only perpetuate the cruelty of her lineage… even when she tried to save the persecuted _ ? 

The very concept of self-pity, especially in that moment, put a sour taste in her mouth. How very... _ Van Hellsing _ … to take a tragedy and make it about themselves. Lillith’s entire body shuddered in revulsion at the thought that she might just be taking after her infamous family after all. 

 

Reality demanded her attention once more, with a lancing throb that echoed behind the tired teenager’s eyes. Oncoming headache wrenching Lillith from thoughts of self-loathing and ‘other such silliness’, as her mother might say; demanding she confront what existed in the Now.

 

Echoes of unmistakeable am _ boo _ lance sirens still throbbed through her skull. Distinctive pitch and ululation screaming her failure to protect, to save, in every repetitious keen. Each urgent, ear-shattering, shriek decrying all half-hearted thoughts that, perhaps, it was just an average ambulance responding to an everyday human emergency.    
_ Maybe some idiot rich brat smashed daddy’s porche into a tree _ , she consoled herself as they rushed past the Van Hellscream estate.  _ Let it be something mundane, please, let it be nothing more than a good headline for tomorrow’s paper.  _

But her rather morbid hopes were dashed by the cruel blade of reality.    
Not  _ ambulances _ , but decidedly am _ boo _ lances sped past; dispatched from the Horrorspital on the monster side of town. The distinction was unmistakable… and caused an incredible anxiety, _ that she steadfastly refused any acknowledgement _ , to nest within her ribcage. Growing as each jet-black vehicle slipped past with dizzying velocity; until they were an army too numerous to count.

 

It was ridiculous, like some sort of elongated sketch from a  _ Monty Python  _ movie.    
And yet, at the same time, it was horrifyingly real; and soul-churningly terrifying all at once.    
The sheer volume of emergency vehicles spread long, cold tendrils of ink-dark fear throughout every inch of her being. As if slowly being enveloped by some form of malevolent jellyfish, manifested by her own guilty conscience. 

 

Whatever her family had done… there were a lot of casualties.   
True, some of the students were dead already, but it did not in any way preclude the potential for their bodies to be utterly destroyed; or their existences, as they knew and experienced them, extinguished. 

_ Generations upon generations _ of her family had seen to it that every possible way to capture, torture and destroy a monster ended up meticulously documented. Some in dusty old tomes that seemed almost as  thick as entire encyclopedia sets stacked end-to-end; entombing within their decrepit leather-bound frames, parchment paper so ancient, it practically threatened to disintegrate upon contact. Filled with the scrawls, sketches and stories of thousands of years’ worth of Van Hellscreams, and their monster-hunting exploits.

Other, more recent data acquired was entered upon a global database. Providing instant access to hunters all over the globe. From the youngest learning the lore by-wrote, as a prelude to the training they would undertake in time yet to come, when their bodies were strong enough to endure apprenticeship; to those already well-versed, in the field, and searching for a more effective means of which to take down a ‘rogue’ monster.    
Hunters were everywhere, and they took on the things in the dark that other humans dared not face. From Poltergeists to Hellhounds, Werewolves to Kelpie; and a thousand other lesser-known ‘breeds’ of apparent hellspawn. 

Not to mention the hybrids... whose official hunter designation was under the universal ‘A’ for ‘Abominations’. They seemed to grow in number and complexity as the years progressed; finding their weaknesses was an ongoing process for several hunting families overseas. In short, Hunting was an industry unlike any other; full of rules, legends and training in which many found themselves indoctrinated, through familial association. 

 

Growing up with these tales of glory -  _ of protecting people from the underhanded, villainous monsters who preyed on the everyday folks you saw down the street, or enjoying a barbecue in the local park _ ; it had all seemed so noble, so just and righteous. Until the day Lillith had been forced to reevaluate. 

When her actions, though they would please her family greatly, had almost lead to the destruction of innocent monsters; for no greater crime than daring to exist. When she had begun to question what this ideology she clung to really meant; not in terms of glory, but in the unlives of others. When the reality of exactly how much monster blood her family had spilled over the eons, nearly drowned the teenager.

 

It had not been easy.   
To realise that the doctrine you had been brought up with, practically spoon-fed from her earliest memory, was a fallacy designed to teach hate; and irreparably corrupt ensuing generations for the purposes of maintaining an ancient, xenophobic legacy. When the reality of what it stood for, what it wanted her to do…  _ who it would have her become _ … was challenged; leaving her cold, confused, and unable to turn to any of her usual supports for guidance, as the blinding light of truth stripped away the lies.   
Knowing that any answers she sought from family and friends also in the life, would all be focused primarily on returning her ‘errant’ self to the fold. Aimed at quieting this ‘rebellious phase’ so she might once more take up arms against the non-humanoids she now called friends… no,  _ ‘fiends’, _ wasn’t it?

 

Lillith knew her parents had sent word to her Uncle, the most infamous of the clan at current, for advice on how to teach her the ‘right way’. To make her lose the newfound ideologies of monsters as… 

... _ as nothing more than people. _

Just average, everyday - _ or everynight, as the case may be _ \- people, like her; and therefore nothing to be feared. Not creatures to be hated or hunted into extinction.   
She knew his reply was simply that Lillith was ‘having her moment of doubt’, as almost all hunters did at some point in their careers. That she would ‘see sense’ soon enough.    
The young woman had loathed the way the adults had laughed to one another over the video phone, as if this burning sense of right and wrong inside her chest was a fad. Something to grow out of;. Just another silly teenaged phase, like saying ‘omg’ or giggling in biology when genitalia was mentioned. 

Like her feelings were invalid.

Like nothing she did mattered whatsoever, because eventually, against her will or otherwise; she would turn out the way her family intended her to. Lillith would take up arms once more, become a faceless soldier in an unforgiving ‘war’-slash- _ persecutory genocide of monsterkind _ . 

They wanted her to become a Monster Hunter, as was expected of all Van Hellscreams.

To become… a Murderer. To revel in the blood she spilled and the unlives she ripped mercilessly away from innocents, whose only crime was existing in a world that could not comprehend difference, and so feared it. 

 

She wanted none of it.

 

Lillith rejected her title, and claim to the legacy.   
Though, again, it was seen as childish rebellion that would pass, when the girl  _ matured _ and  _ saw sense _ . It was an infuriating position. To be young and ignored; to see past the narrowed worldview imposed by older generations, and be chastised for daring to question  what lay outside the censure. 

 

Why was she thinking of her uncle?   
With everything going on right now, Lillith could not seem to work out the correlation between the chaos outside, and her parents having had long video-conferences about her with a man on the other side of the world she barely remembered, all those months ago. It had plagued her all morning.

In fact, from a highly specific point in time, to be exact.

 

From the moment her cousin and that other man  _ -the entirety of the revered Team Theta apparently-  _ had slouched inside just past dawn. Filthy and complaining about having to bury such unholy creatures as if they deserved a final resting place, instead of just tossing them in the trash ‘where they belonged’.    
The utter horror in the tone of the household manservant, Clive, had sent Lillith careening out of bed at this ungodly hour; a dagger in one hand and body pressed flat against the wall of the corridor just outside. It was then she heard the exchange.    
Clive’s high, aghast voice seemed to choke as he beheld the messy chaos left in the wake of the unrepentant pair of reluctant evidence removalists. Predominantly at the fact that they were both apparently tracking dirt, mud and additional debris throughout the normally spotless household; and admonishing the young woman’s derisive laughter, in answer to his distress. 

“Oh, keep your tights on, Jeeves… we’ve been working late!” crowed the familiar teenager, whom Lillith still couldn’t recall the name of, tone an interesting blend of insolent and condescending. Going on attitude alone, it would be hard to pin down the identity of this young woman, half the family felt like they were gifts from God and all else should serve or respect them. 

Who was this person? Images of her, younger and smiling as they played childish games, but also grim and panting as they ran through fighting forms over and over while their young limbs trembled with exertion, trickled into Lillith’s mind. Her name was right on the edge of the former huntress’s tongue, and yet… as distant as a star in the sky. It was infuriating.    
What was her name… Lillith had only the oddest feeling that it started with an ‘L’, as well.   
  
The thought came across the young fashionista’s mind, and she near smacked herself for the stupidity of it. Of  _ course _ the other girl’s name started with an ‘L’... every child born to the Van Hellsings within a certain age range, each generation as it were, was given a letter. Segmented into generations of ten year periods, it meant that there was no chance of repetition of a letter until all within the original group were well gone; to time or fate. Though, to outsiders, it might appear a rather unusually elaborate system… it had worked for the Van Hellscream family, and the outlying hunting families, for centuries.   
  
Identification under battle conditions was simplified; just your full name gave an indication of who you were, your age and status within the Hunting Community. It also provided an effective mnemonic method of keeping track of squad members; especially in situations where teams had to be hastily created prior to an impromptu ambush or attack.    
Which was a scenario that reared its ugly head more often than one would think. 

_   
_ _ Laura? Lyla? Lynda? Lashawna? ...Leia?  _ _   
_ _ Were any family members significant fans of Star Wars about a decade and a half ago? _ __   
  


She had had to shake her head rather hard to dislodge the errant thought.   
Mind still reeling, nauseatingly, from being wrested from the first real sleep Lillith had managed in over a week. The practice near-impossible ever since the convention started and those odd people began turning up at all hours; jarring her sensibilities into something akin to hypervigilance, and providing a far too stressful situation to allow for sleep to occur.   
  
...Lillith could have killed for some sleep, but the opportunity to overhear a clue as to what machinations her family had in motion, spurred her to remain violently awake long past her normal breaking point. Such as this very moment. Perched on the balls of her feet and ignoring the concerning lurching-thud her heart kept making, as adrenaline demanded more of it than was really fair considering the lack of healing rest they’d had recently.    
Constant vigilance did nothing for the complexion. Or the blood pressure, come to think of it.

  
  


It did, however, make it far easier to overhear things you were not supposed to be privy to. Such as the fact that another assigned Team was active in Monster High,  _ and  _ that Team Theta had spent the last few hours  _ literally _ burying the evidence, as it were. Not a huge amount of information, granted… but something to go on.    
Just enough to worry over, really. As she would undoubtedly reiterate, as the young woman puzzled out the nature, and motive, driving whatever plan her family had concocted; from the fortress of her ornate room-turned-cage, later on.

 

Then that voice had cut across the room again  _ \- the familiar one that had plagued her for days. _ _   
_ __   
“You are being rude, Team Theta. We are guests here, and people are trying to sleep,” said the Mystery Van Hellscream, mostly aimed at Lillith’s nameless cousin. “You have done a remarkable job, but I think it’s time you two cleaned yourselves up and rested. All teams will be needed at their peak performance, very soon thanks to your actions.”

Lillith felt her heart sink into her stomach, at the proclamation.    
None of her fr-...  _ fiends _ , were safe. And she had no idea how to protect them, or even from what. Such was this internal panic, that she had almost failed to hear-...  _ it. _

Something had thumped, then. More a soft ‘whumphf’ of an object being placed upon a surface; but she caught it. Heartbeat thudding so loudly in her ears as to almost completely block out all other auditory clues, Lillith had waited atop the stairs in the passageway; straining to catch the moment the ground floor was once more empty, amidst a shuffling of footsteps in all directions.

 

Overconfidence, or perhaps a desperate determination, had seen the teenager skulk down the stairs and towards the muted mumbling coming from the closed-off Study once more. Finding no one in the immediate vicinity, Lillith followed the muddy bootprints that wound about the small room, with her eyes; trailing them until they deviated off into a side corridor that eventuated in guest bedrooms, somewhere along the way. 

Clive could neither be seen nor heard, so he must have felt it his duty to show them to their rooms, which was a minor blessing; and the man whose voice kept coming back to her, seemed to have retreated once more into the Study. She could hear him congratulating a distorted, static-impeded voice, on a well-executed plan; and assumed they must be using a low-tech communications device.    
Unusual, to say the least… their family could afford the best and never spared expense when it came to anything that may be necessary for the hunting lifestyle; after all, being thrifty could cost you your life, in the field. Cheap things break, or fail far more easily than brand-name devices… at least, that appeared to be the unofficial ideology of the Van Hellscream family. Lillith wasn’t entirely sure it was accurate. Not much of what they had taught her, was, really.

 

Her daring was rewarded. On the small wooden table situated near the staircase she had slipped down, lay one ornate vase full of her mother’s favourite flowers, a barely-marked guestbook with a pen for signing attached on golden chain… and a large, weatherbeaten Hunter’s coat. The kind only her family could get away with wearing, without being seen as overtly-melodramatic, suspicious, or come sort of Western-themed roleplayers. 

Though what she cared for in that moment was what was peering out from underneath the garment. With deliberate care, Lillith had unearthed an ancient book bound in what could only be called ‘hide’ - _ possibly from a monster, though she dared not ponder which _ \- and covered in faded gold symbols. Across the front, a large pentagram within a circle… and the title, now revealed, almost made the young former-huntress drop the book. 

Unsure how to respond to this particular discovery, and feeling a sense of immediacy, knowing anyone could come across her sleuthing at any given second; Lillith automatically made for the stairs, book in hand. Then paused, thought better of it, and returned to the room; carefully hanging up the coat on hooks provided for kitchen staff and back-entrance visitors. 

That way, should anyone look for the book, the cognitive dissonance created by coming across the cloak they had thought sprawled on a tabletop, instead neatly hung up, would make them question if they had not simply put the book elsewhere and forgotten. It was a cheap disillusionment trick that turned a human’s natural inclination to forget small, automatic actions, against them. 

Having done so, Lillith had crept back up the stairs; heart thudding at the reality that, at any given second, a misstep or untimely entrance of another being, could give the game away. By the time she had made it to the small corridor leading to her room, the young woman was utterly emotionally exhausted; ending the entire ordeal by hastily shoving the book away from prying eyes, and dropping down across the comfortable expanse of her bed. Not resisting the gentle embrace of sleep as it graced her with its presence, once more this morning; and steadfastly ignoring the dawnlight that slitted through cracks in her closed curtains.

_ The last lingering thought, a question of whether she could get away with what she had just done… and what would happen if her actions were discovered. _

  
  


Lillith had awoken somewhat frazzled and rather confused by the ball of anxiety that weighed heavily within her breast… until reality seeped in once more, as it always must. Invading the pleasant haze of sleep with the harsh consciousness that plagued the waking world. It had only been six in the morning, rather late for the teenager to be rising; but the alarm clock -always set for five-thirty am- had been unplugged by an unknown person at some point the previous night, and even Annoria left her lay-in this day. A blessing in disguise, and immediately suspicious.

She languished in bed an hour or so longer; falling in and out of brief, restless sleep with little coherency between waking and dreaming, until something forced the young woman fully awake. Whether it had been the result of a nightmare, or just a knowing, Lillith had awoken fully with a lingering feeling of…  _ not quite dread _ . More, a sudden sense of immediacy to be somewhere you were not; completing a task you did not yet know needed doing.

 

The last time such a premonitory sensation had struck, it was the day her grandmother had passed on. Though the family had not known until days after; for the battle-hardened, sixty-something, Gertrude Van HellScream had been out fighting a rather cantankerous Chimera at the time. On her own, as was her way since her husband had been turned to stone years before after trying to hunt down Medusa for the bragging rights; and therefore uncontactable.   
Lillith recalled waking the household up with her panicked shouting that she needed to go and see her ‘Nanna’ _ that instant _ ; none of the rousedadults fully comprehending how or why this strong urge to see the elderly woman, had descended upon the nine-year-old. Nor did Lillith herself understand it. But sometimes, when you cared enough about a person, you can tell when something goes terribly wrong…

Incongruous as the memory was to current events, Lillith suddenly recalled how her grandmother had been found deceased three days after that; a search team dispatched by her parents to locate the woman. Done, solely, to quiet Lillith’s insistent pleading that they find her last remaining grandparent… and inadvertently, creating greater chaos within the family. The whole debacle had resulted in concerns she might be ‘tainted’; which was unusual, but did occasionally happen when the hunting families mixed blood with those outside their world -  _ as her maternal grandmother had _ . Lillith’s maternal grandfather having been a baker, of all things, prior to marrying into the Van Hellscream name; making his genetic history and lineage, immediately  _ suspect _ .    
Anyone could have a little monster in them, if you traced non-hunting families back far enough.  _ Incubi and Succubi were rampant in the Middle Ages, after all. _

Though, thankfully, none of the holy-water showers or various incantations and potions had revealed her to be anything more than she was: just a very confused, distraught nine-year-old girl. Utterly Human. And missing her grandmother; to whom she’d been quite close, despite the older woman having a ferocious reputation. 

It was the memory of what they had deemed a fitting series of trials to put a bereaved child through, that shadowed her even now. The price to pay for a childish nightmare, a premonition, a sense of worry for someone you loved… was months of observation and testing; some of which had left permanent marks where they could be easily concealed, others only in her mind. 

Imagine what her family would do if they knew how she defied them now.

Betrayal, they would call it.    
Giving their secrets and plans to the very  _ things  _ they sought to eradicate. She would most likely be killed, after a time of ‘atonement’, it was simply the way their family dealt with these things. Such tales were littered throughout the books of lore they retained; of sympathisers within Van Hellscream ranks who suffered for their supposed sins; and almost all hunters she had met in her short existence, knew of a family member or friend who had had to be eradicated after ‘going soft’. It was considered to be ‘giving in’ to your moment of doubt; the moment of weakness and moral questioning all hunters experience, eventually. 

Despite all she had experienced at the hands of those who she called family, Lillith had grown up to despise monster-sympathisers; those who believed in integration, and the radical ideology of monsters as sentient, rational beings. Perhaps, looking back, it was a form of survival; training harder, becoming better, putting effort into believing the propaganda so that she was never a target again. After all, the loudest dissenters of something are often making noise to hide their own proclivities, beliefs and actions.    
Lillith, reflecting back, realised she had played chameleon, without ever knowing it.

 

After all, what had been last Halloween, but an elaborate attempt to imprint on the minds of her family that she, Lillith Van Hellscream, was a true Hunter? 

And now…    
  
...and now everything was different.    
She stood to lose a lot, if the depth of what she dared to do, ever came to light; not just in the unlives of her…  _ fiends _ … but also in personal sacrifice. The Grim reality of the situation was beginning to feel a lot like standing on the crumbling cliff edge, peering into a gaping, bottomless chasm from which there could be no return. 

Of course, this was all hypothetical; Lillith was inadvertently riling herself up, which would not help her in the present. It was just as well no one had dared enter her room yet, for they would have found the young mistress of the house in quite a state; and she could never allow that to happen. Only Cleo seemed to understand the pressure of having to be,  _ to act _ , a certain way at all times and give nothing away. Play the role you are assigned, and deviate for nothing.   
  


_ ‘I am okay _ ,’ she whispers to herself in the stillness of early morning. ‘ _ I am okay. I am okay and none suspect my true intentions. They think this nothing more than teenaged rebellion and an early onset of moralistic doubt… I am safe. I am SAFE _ .’

 

It worked, somewhat. The repetition helped to center the more flighty parts of her mind, focusing them back on the now; on the positives of the situation in which the girl was bound. Lillith was alone, and whomsoever had unplugged her alarm clock had done so with single-minded intent; nothing else was disturbed or missing.

Speaking of which…    
Lillith then immediately dug the iCoffin from within the rumpled covers of her bed; tears darn-near pricking the corners of her eyes at the realisation it still carried enough charge for the message she needed to send. Her fingers had flown across the screen, typing furiously and frustratedly; typing then erasing, typing then erasing, and so the pattern went.    
So much information had to be transferred, and so little time was available to do it in; Lillith could not even be certain that she was not already too late… but she had to try. Finally, in a blur, she had a message written out; never before had the device taken so long to send a single damned text.

The former huntress lived in limbo for long minutes after that. Taking the silence to mean her information was no longer valid; or that something had happened to Cleo. Which was an infinitely worse scenario, in her eyes.    
Certainly, basing your friendship on the time you both, inadvertently, almost got a third (and fourth?) party murdered for no reason… should be a cause for concern, and a generalised red flag to the vast majority of psychologists; but it worked for Cleo and Lillith. Like some sort of buddy-movie epiphany moment, it had strengthened the friendship; and helped tie together two generally separate communities like never before.

 

Her knee bounced up and down, jiggling with pent-up nervous energy; Lillith’s training had given her the ability to become emotionally detached, still and silent as a statue, as necessary. But none of it came to mind, this day;  not when so much was on the line.    
Just what the hell were her family even up to? Who was the target and how did she stop them before they hurt more monsters?

Team Theta had purportedly killed, or unkilled, people last night and destroyed the evidence. If they were willing to be so brazen about it, especially when the town was crawling with additional witnesses, the snap-happy conventioneers, then it must be big. This was an operation that was clearly going ahead whether it was uncovered by law enforcement, or otherwise.

 

Finally, past nine in the morning, there came a response to her urgent message.    
The vibrating of her illicit iCoffin almost drowned out in the sudden shrieking of distant sirens; which made Lillith’s heart drop deep into her stomach for the second time in as many hours. Only the mildest bit relieved when she beheld the message returned.

 

.

_ Time: 9:03am _ _   
_ _ To: DesignerDiva _

_ I know. _

_ The lights…  _ _   
_ _ I am okay. Others are not. _

_ Call you later. _

 

_ -Ra’s ChosenOne _

.

 

Well, that was that, then.   
She had failed to forewarn her fiend, of the impending peril. Lillith bit her lip, unable to think of anything to respond with; a million questions went untyped, unsure which to lead with, or if they’d be welcome after whatever had occurred. How could she ever ask Cleo to trust her again, after this?

Lillith had sat in a minor fugue state for a few moments, before cluing in to the sudden escalation in piercing shrieks and wails that announced a procession of multiple amboolances speeding through town. It snapped her back to reality like nothing else had, so far.

  
  


It was nearly midmorning,  and no one had come searching for the missing book as of yet. Though secreted away in an occupied pillowcase upon her bed, Lillith was not entirely confident the position would hold up upon close inspection; such as, say, that of the weekly housecleaner. Eudora was a thorough woman, who held little regard for privacy if it stood between her and leaving a room perfectly spotless. Though, despite the fact it was Thursday, it appeared Eudora was not coming this week; a strange occurrence in, and of, itself.

Still, one less person to worry about.   
In fact, Lillith was starting to question how and why no one had come to call on her at this time; when normally she would have a parent or servant hastily rapping upon the door by this time, questioning what deathly illness had kept her secluded at such an outrageous hour of morning.    
Leaving her to interpret the results as one of two potential scenarios. Either her psychological trick had worked; or, in the chaos of preparing for whatever had prompted so many amboolances to zip past, the original owner had completely forgotten about it. The latter did not exactly provide comfort.

 

Speaking of the book… the fashionista took a few breaths to calm her racing heart; nerves beginning to hum unpleasantly again, as the anxiety in her chest began to grow once more.   
_ No, no… it had to stop. There was no time for this.  _ _   
_   
With effort, Lillith shut her eyes and focused on emptying her ‘mental trash bin’.    
Certainly, the process was only a psychological one, but it had always worked; from the moment it had been taught to her in preliminary hunter training-slash-meditation, to last week, just prior to a major Physics exam worth half the overall subject grade.    
Visualising all concerns, anxieties and thoughts of vengeance as random objects; she ‘picked them up’  __ en masse  and dropped them into the trashcan-esque void her imagination conjured. Immediately following this process by visualising being cheerful, and relaxing her features so she appeared outwardly at peace. 

Simultaneously cracking open an eye and glancing in the nearby mirror of her ornate white-and-gold vanity; pretending not to see the halo of bedhead gracing her features as the young woman openly scrutinised whether or not her external appearance did, or did not, reflect her internal conflict. This was a make-or-break moment.   
  
Nothing could be given away, or all would fall.    
  
_ How very much like a game of Jenga, her life had panned out in these last few days… _ she mused, shuffling over to the vanity, and immediately attempting to contain the calamity that was her hair; armed with nothing more than a hairbrush and about half a can of some French, brand-name spray. Normally, Lillith was reluctant to use the chemical concoction, given how difficult it was to get out again, of an evening; but today, it seemed that she must gird herself in all manners. Hair was a distraction, if you let it be; and nothing short of industrial strength chemicals would keep it out of her face. Keep it as  meticulously perfectly presented as it must be.   
Likewise, though every inch of her body itched for action, as movement bustled about on floors below and above, the former huntress took her time to apply her usual routine of make-up; and even wasted further precious moments, in selecting an outfit. Why did it seem so utterly pointless, today?

  
Normally, this was a minor highlight of the morning; a familiar series of actions that made her feel quite confident, powerful… untouchable. She may have left hunting behind, but the mindset never truly left;  it merely bled into another, equally-as-important area of her lifestyle. Appearance. Fashion. Looking good wasn’t a crime, after all.

Still, the whole series of well-practiced actions and decisions felt… hollow, today. Perhaps it was the way the piercing keen of sirens echoed in her mind as she applied her foundation; or the way her eyes subconsciously shifted focus from the garments within her wardrobe, to glancing out the window, and then to the silent iCoffin. Nothing had changed, no more news had come in.

_ ‘Well then,’ _ Lillith thinks as she checks her ensemble in the mirror, _ ‘it is up to me then.’  _

 

But… what to do now?    
The need to do,  _ to help _ , to expose the terrible secret of what she had discovered to another being… it thrummed through the teenager; and, though she near vibrated with uncharacteristically nervous energy, it had yet to find an outlet. For who could she call on at this hour? Who would be amenable to plotting and planning mid-morning?

Two came to mind, and she knew they would come if she called… but her greatest obstacle in attain allies was not in convincing them. Rather, it was more firmly based in finding a convincing coverstory by which she might see them; Lillith having no doubt that attempting to venture outside the house would involve someone being sent to shadow her, report her actions back to the family. It was a terrible thing, to be so mistrusted by those you had grown up with, and held in affectionate familial regard.

They would have to come here, then.   
Hastily, she texts the pair an urgent summons on her regular phone; a pricey, advanced model that still, somehow, seemed to have nothing on the iCoffin. In moments, Clair had replied that she would come; and then replied again a moment later to let Lillith know Chad was also coming, he just didn’t know it yet.

A sigh of relief rippled out of the fashionista. Finally, something was going right!

With that part sorted, and the pair already on the way, it left one final component to the plan. All Lillith had yet to do, then, was wait for the right opportunity to ask permission for them to come over.

 

Whatever minor miracle she’d been granted in the last fifteen minutes, held up under the strain. And, moments after putting her everyday phone somewhere visible enough for the snooping party to immediately find it when they pleased, the opportunity arose.

She heard familiar footsteps patter past, echoing up into the corridor clear as day,  as her father moved by the staircase. Ah, perfect.   
With a hopefully-convincing smile pasted on her face, as if she were nothing more than he egotistical, vapid teenager they all assumed she was, Lillith descended to meet him at the base. Cursing the need for all this deception, in every language she knew.

“Daddy!” Lillith chirps angelically.

He turned on a dime to face her, eyebrows raised. Unused to his dear daughter being so enthusiastic to see him all of a sudden. Normally there were halted conversations and angry glares in place of actual vocal exchanges between the man and his primary offspring.   
Therefore it is understandable that his response of,  _ “Good morning, dear?”  _ sounded slightly incredulous.

 

“Daddy, I was just wondering if I could have a few friends over for a little bit… it’s just, that I haven’t seen Clair or Chad  _ all week long _ . And school doesn’t resume until  _ next week  _ at the  _ earlies _ t, but  _ they’re going away _ for a long-weekend trip _ tomorrow…  _ so it’s really my  _ last chance  _ to see them!” Her tone was sugary enough to turn the stomach of even the hardiest of unicorns.  _ “Please, Daddy?” _

The older man levels a glare at his daughter. “Now when you say friends…” He fumbles a moment, and finally finishes, “I mean, it wouldn’t be advisable to have  _ a certain sort  _ over while the rest of the family pops in for a vacation.  _ Do you understand me?” _

She blinks, mentally attempting to corral her expression into the most innocently vapid look a human could manage, before replying.   
“Oh yes… I’m _ so sorry  _ Daddy, I should have said! Clair and Chad are  _ Human _ .” She stresses the word, oddly disgusted with how her father relaxes at the clarification. “We all go to  _ New Salem High  _ together, which is why they can go away for a long weekend, while the school’s being refurbished… I don’t think  _ Mons- _ ... the  _ other school  _ has holidays right now.”

“Then yes, dear, I whole-heartedly endorse it… but knowing you, they’re already on the way over irregardless of my final verdict, am I right?” He levels at Lillith, mildly amused.

Holding in the desire to be over-the-top dramatic, Lillith just smiles and slaps on the closest approximation to an  _ ‘Oops-you-caught-me’  _ expression she can manage on two hours sleep. Mr Van Hellscream takes this as her silent assent that his prediction was, as always, unerringly accurate.

...he also takes the sounding of the front doorbell as a secondary sign he was right.

“That’ll be for you then, I suppose.” He says, turning away to disappear in the direction of the Study. “Have fun, dear.”

 

Ah, the joys of hands-off parenting.

No unnecessary questions. Just acceptance. 

 

Although maintaining her cover story did mean that neither the black-clad and bright-eyed Clair, nor clearly-still-half-asleep Chad were quite prepared for the overly-friendly, enthusiastic greeting they received from Lillith. She even hugged them for good measure. Chad naturally responding because that’s just who he was at heart, a hugger; and Clair taking a nudge in the ribs to at least play along  _ -having gone rigid in shock at this unanticipated turn of events. _

“Come in,  _ come in _ ! It’s _ so  _ good to  _ see you _ ... “ she beams, gesturing to the hovering manservant Clive that she did, indeed, have this; and would not require assistance in greeting her guests. “Do come up to my room, you two… I have the  _ loveliest  _ view of the garden… wait until you see it!”

 

Bemused and concerned,  _ though mostly the latter _ , they do indeed trail the former-huntress to her room; and valiantly maintain composure until the door shuts entirely. Clair laughing into a provided pillow for a long few seconds before the mirth fades and she zones into the scenario. Slightly embarrassed, Lillith understands this unusual outburst; after all, hugging had never really been either of their ‘thing’, so to suddenly ambush the other girl with it had been… a unique experience. Chad, on the other hand, tactfully said nothing but refused to stop grinning about their little piece of theatre at the door, moments before.    
  
Both grow serious in response to Lilith’s vapid expression falling to something part-concern, part-determination and general fear. Even the atmosphere of the room seemed to darken.    
That little reactionary moment passed, Lillith gets right down to business. Explaining in a low, firm tone, the urgency behind the text-based summons the pair had received earlier; and the creative use of emoticons to demand the pair arrive immediately, as something had gone terribly wrong. She tried to outline the unnamable fear she felt for the safety of their fiends at Monster High… but nothing came out; though, thankfully, Clair and Chad seemed to catch on to her emotions based on the unique gestures Lillith was making, in lieu of verbal cues.

 

“We saw the amboolances, you know anything about that?” Clair asks, eyes snapping to the  book Lilith flops onto the bedspread; dancing over every detail, and grimacing when the reality of what it was bound with struck the teenager. “Okay, pretty sure that’s some sort of troll-skin, which is both awesome… and really gross. And kind of fucked up, come to think of it. So, what’s with the book?”

 

“My extended family came to stay during Convention Week, which is unusual to say the least, and all I know for certain is that several key members have something to do with whatever is happening at Monster High right now. I don’t know what, but it has to do with the convention, I think they’re using it as a cover for whatever they’re up to; but they’ve shut me out, so nothing is concrete… except this.” Lillith gestures to the book.   
  
“Theta Team came back in around dawn, they were… I mean, there’s only two of them, but they were covered in mud and talking about burying bodies. So clearly, someone has been killed, or unkilled, as the case may be. Still, whilst our manservant was having heart palpitations over their mess, a third party entered to quiet it down; and when I went down to investigate, I found that someone had left this on a table.   
Hmmm, actually, come to think of it, this might just have been a trap for me;  but I really don’t actually _ care  _ anymore. Trap or not, all I know for certain is that this has clearly got something to do with what they’re planning…” Lillith says, hands fidgeting. 

She levels her gaze at them, “So what I need you two to do…” she pauses, feeling like commanding a favour from her friends probably wouldn’t be the right way to perpetuate a friendship. Trying again with a softer tone, “That is to say, what it is I am asking of you both, is that you covertly take a message to the monsters, for me. Find Cleo, if you can; she will  know what to do, and who to contact next.”

 

_ ‘If she hasn’t been destroyed by whatever my family did…’ _ she finished mentally.   
  


“What about your iCoffin, though? Can’t you send her messages on-...” Chad tries, eyes moving about the room for a sin of it. Stopping twice on the other phone, before dismissing it as similar-but-wrong; he clearly needed caffeine to kick-start his day. Lillith empathised.

 

“No. I-... since this morning I just have this awfully strong feeling that communications are either being jammed, or intercepted, in the household itself. My only option is to use a… a different carrier service, if you will.” Lillith smiles, as Clair lets out a tiny huff of amusement at the half-hearted pun.    
“Please, if you will, use your phones to take as many photos of the book and its contents as they can physically stand; and transport them over to Monster High, before they can play out whatever it is the hunting clans are plotting out next.” Lillith finished, her tone now held a pleading edge to it. 

 

With an exaggerated sigh, Clair immediately whipped out her practically-ancient archaeological-find of a mobile phone and began taking pictures of the cover from all angles. It was only after she’d gone right around the outside, that the gothic-styled teen opened the tome at all.  Chad hopped nervously beside her, taking the odd photograph here and there, but mostly staring at the pages as if committing them to memory; like an actor to a script.   
Lillith looked at the lanky, ever-optimistic teenager and raised a questioning eyebrow. He stilled, fingers dancing on his jean-clad thighs in continued movement.

“Lillith… even if we do this, how is it going to help? Something’s already happened… I mean…” He says stiltedly; looking as if each word was forced from him under torture.

 

She looks between the pair, making eye-contact  _ -as if to prove beyond a doubt-  _ her sincerity as the fashionista tells them, “Because it  _ has  _ to, Chad. They are our friends, and this is how we can help right now… so we will. And…” Lillith hesitates before stating, truthfully, “...because apart from this, there’s nothing else we can do.”

 

In the silence that follows, all that can be heard is the repetitive whirring-snap that accompanied each picture taken by her determined human friends.    
Lillith positioned herself at the door, in case the need to play interference  with snooping servant or curious family member, arose.

If this was all they could do to help… then this was what they would do.   
And by all of Cleo’s Gods and Goddesses, Lillth Van Hellscream would do it well, or so help her.

All the while, the Van Hellscream held fast to her belief that Cleo and the others were alright. What else could be done under the circumstances?

  
  


She had almost convinced herself that their determined altruism would see their monster fiends through whatever calamity had befallen them, as Lillith over-exaggeratedly farewelled the pair at the door. Appreciative of Chad’s authentic, comforting hug; and how Clair managed to reciprocate the inane air-kisses without losing her breakfast all over the front steps at the sugary, nonsensical ritual. 

Lillith waved and waved… and waved, until they were almost entirely down the long driveway, before shutting the door. The next step was in their court now, she had shared the burden, if only a little. A strong desire to lean against the door and sag to the floor in relief, sprang to mind…

...but as Lillith turned away, she practically ran headfirst into a broad chest. Clothed in a rather eerily recognisable overcoat.

 

“Hello there, Lillith… lovely friends you have there. Lovely human friends.” Said that horrifyingly familiar voice, as the young woman froze incriminatingly. Unable to look in any direction but forwards, seeing the coat, the belt of weaponry; feeling trapped in place by a nameless fear.

His voice dropped into a conspiratorial stage whisper, “ _ Did you get the book I left for you this morning? It’s one of my favourites…” _

 

Well, shit. Now she knew who it was… and please,  _ by the power of Ra and the other bird-guy-whose-name-she-couldn’t-recall-given-her-level-of-terror _ , let her be  _ wrong _ .

 

Lillith mustered her flagging will-power, tried to subtly clench her fists… and slowly raised her gaze. A familiar face stared back down the additional foot or so between them.

Her heart sank.

She’d been right… 

_ ‘You let me down, bird-god, you let me down significantly.’  _ The only thought to come to mind as she beheld, quite possibly her worst fear, the nail in the coffin of this calamitous situation.

 

Of course the voice had been familiar.   
The voice, the overcoat, the way people ran to do his bidding… of course…

It was him.

 

His cold smile widened, as he spread his arms wide. 

“What, no hug for your dear old Uncle Van Hellscream?”


	13. A Booquet of Lilies for Your Grave

Never before had the vast, eerie corridors of Monster High seemed so confining.

 

Monsters in all directions  _ -including, in the case of several traumatised spectral students,  _ **_Up_ ** _ \-  _ were slowly coming to terms with the crisis they had just survived; the things they had seen, the actions they had taken… or failed to, as the case may be. It all seemed to wash over everyone present in a violent tidal wave of reality…   
No, more an all-consuming, relentless tsunami that crashed over all in its path without mercy. Drowning even the most steadfast, clawing at their clothing with ‘What if?’s and guilt… 

Guilt that they were still here, somewhat sunburned or otherwise entirely unharmed, as classmates fought for their very unlives. Some of the vampires were so burned, their skin was almost like charcoal; and many of the water monsters had been dehydrated near-instantaneously, before anyone could think to respond to the sudden surge of light and heat. 

No one would ever forget their screams.

 

Everything was still too real. Too large and empty.

She could see it in the way students clutched at their heads, their hair, as if everything else was a dizzying madness they could not grasp. In the manner others fought their own rising horror to assist those losing the battle; kneeling by friend or stranger, urging them to breathe, to focus on them and feel secure that they were safe, as ruthless attacks of panic and anxiety assuaged tired teenaged psyches. 

In how legs betrayed some, sliding to the ground where they stood; and others clung to the walls, and nearby fiends, with a fierce desperation. Knowing them to be the only solid thing in their unlives at this exact moment.

It was… turmoil, as the adrenaline receded.   
As the driving  _ Purpose  _ of before, faded away, now the bulk of the crisis had passed.

 

Some of those who had frozen finally came back to full awareness, taking in the chaos about them with the bleary gazes of sleepers. Many chose to wander the halls sluggishly, searching for familiar faces, for comfort; in a unique twist of fate, quite a few ending up offering it instead. 

And she watched.

 

There was nothing else Spectra could do right now.   
Everything they felt, it raced through her intangible form like invisible electricity that paralysed and energised, all at once. Sending mixed signals to an emotionally-exhausted mind.   
Fear, horror, revulsion, confusion, a need to give comfort and be comforted… and, though she would rather not acknowledge the pangs of recollection running through her mind right now… an impending sense of familiarity rippled through the ghoul’s very being. Like this was just a replay of an old movie, something she knew the ending to in another time… and yet, at the same time, the plot differed. What was happening now was similar, but somehow wrong.

There were no words to describe the sensation, other than to state it felt as if the events had deviated from the original plot; at least, if placed in direct comparison to the ‘first viewing’. Which made no sense, no matter how hard Spectra pondered the intangible feeling; and in a twist that would titillate Schrodinger, simultaneously, it made perfect sense. The journalistically-inclined ghoul tried desperately not to image herself as a cat in a box, trapped between two certainties; adrift in a sea of potential answers, half-remembered truths and extrapolations as to her fate.

Strange, the way a mind tries to process trauma.    
Ever the writer, she sought to quantify her feelings in obscure words and quasi-metaphors; ever struggling to clarify what it meant. Digging deeper, picking at the hidden depths of her memories for answers. Searching… despite the sour sensation growing within her soul, the one that whispered to let things remain as they were or everything would fall. The part of Spectra that feared what had already been, enough to obscure it from her present self.

It made her all the more curious, and wary, of what she would find when the seal broke completely one day.

  
  


Several feet below where she unintentionally hung as an accidental voyeur, those still capable of mobility and semi-coherent speech were offering limited aid. Mostly consolation; some general comfort. any doing nothing more than letting soft words spill from their lips as trembling others clung to them, or just sobbed with lost expressions as the morning’s events caught up to them in full.    
Spectra understood their plight on an almost  _ spiritual _ level, as Porter would say. She grinned despite the chaos, at the thought of her boofiend’s optimistic nature and terrible punnery. Heath Burns finally had a worthy adversary for pun-slinging competitions, since the Paintergeist had transferred over; which was both a blessing, and a curse.

 

They could use a little of their comedic commentary right now, truth be told. Her own mind was trapped in an endless cycle of similar thoughts that threatened to overwhelm the ghostly gossip. Always the same things, over and over. In that instant, she sudenly longed to have Porter by her side; the artistically-inclined boo always found a way to distract his ghoulfiend when her thoughts grew too morbid, too numerous and loud.

But he was not here.

Purrhaps he lingered somewhere else, assisting other monsters whose minds whirled; who found themselves just watching on, unable to move. Frozen in place by the weight of what they witnessed. Helping, as she should be… though Spectra could bring herself to do naught but hover over all and watch.

 

Watch monsters helping monsters, in the aftermath of a scene so familiar it was as if she had watched it play out once before. Though, of corpse, she did not possess psychic abilities, and the sensation was not that of deja vu. Rather, like the lingering impression of a dream upon waking; the kind to which you desperately cling, and yet lose anyway, as consciousness floods in. Awareness maintaining nothing more than mere vestiges of what was, to your waking mind, reality for the few short hours of unconsciousness. 

 

Creatures seemed to move about aimlessly, awaiting official command from the Headless Headmistress before they could direct students from where they sat in stunned disillusionment, to a more viable location. So far, Mr Hack, Mrs Kindergrubber and Mr Rotter had passed underneath the journalist without so much as an acknowledgement; eyes trained downwards on the more tangible students. Stopping here and there to offer a word or two, but mostly remaining dissociated from the air of listlessness about them. 

Rain still cascaded down for the moment, leading to the belief that Professor Yaga must still be on the roof; possibly so caught-up in her delight at being permitted to brew such a wildly unpredictable potion upon school grounds, that she had not realised the immediate scaremergent stitchuation was over. That it would be expedient to cease the storm, now.

 

_ ‘This must be how birds feel’ _ , is an errant thought across Spectra’s mind as she looks at the tableau of unlife beneath; all too wrapped up in their own little worlds to look up. To catch the observer plying her trade. To feel concern that their pale, anxious expressions might make the next Ghostly Gossip column.

Though they won’t.    
Spectra isn’t the callous vultures that often populate the journalistic ranks of sensationalist supermarket tabloids; which she considered anaethema. Especially after realising the consequences of creating stories based on hear-say or poor fact-checking; seeing the damage such articles could create. The very concept of using calamity to provide better press, better ratings, more publicity for her publications was -to Spectra’s eyes-  the sole domain of low-level normie media scumbags. Whom she hated with a passion that tinged the ghoul’s entire body a malevolent pink, whenever thoughts of their disgraceful journalistic tactics came to mind.

No, Spectra’s iCoffin was hidden in her attire and would remain so-holstered until an appropriate time. Purrhaps to dedicate a short article to the injured, and the heroes of Monster High this day. Those who had immediately stepped up to respond.

 

The ones she beheld below her, sprawled in all directions; napping exhaustedly or continuing to provide comfort and consolation to the majority of students who needed such ministrations. A strange sense of pride swelled, for the calibre of those she called fiends; for the bravery of the students of Monster High. Like a confirmation that, taking the risk of moving to the Monster World, and attending this school… had been the correct decision. This was where Spectra belonged, among the ranks of teenaged monsters such as these.

It was an odd comfort, somehow making the dismal day all the brighter. If only for a few, lingering, seconds.

 

In the corridor below, Neighthan Rot is only a few feet to the right, exhaustedly napping against an obliging Wydowna Spider. As the popculture-chic spider ghoul tries her best to calm the flighty Bonita Femur out of her post-crisis panic, in a whisper-soft tone.    
For her part, the hybrid was trying quite hard to  _ let  _ the lovely obsidian-arachnid ghoul talk Bonita into a less agitated state; finally settling beside the comic-enthusiast, and letting herself sag into Wydowna’s offered embrace. Anxiety having drained the last of her energy reserves.    
Quickly and efficiently, Wydowna checks them both over, and uses her free hands to rearrange the other ghoul’s wings, so they don’t get crushed against the unrelentingly hard metal of the school lockers. She gives the watching Spectra a cheeky wink, and a thumbs-up with two of her free hands - _ which catches the ghostly ghoul off-guard completely; not aware her observing was being observed _ . Wydowna laughs a little, and then looks away at the roving Mr Hack; waiting for some sign she needed to wake the pair, or carry them to a new location.

 

Flushing, and attempting to recover her dignity through additional activity. Spectra observes the entirety of the corridor; picking out a few familiar faces, and worrying at the inability to locate others. Her eagle-eye view affording the ghoul a front-row seat to the multitude of events occurring simultaneously. Such as that involving the Wolf Family.

Further down the hall, Clawdeen seemed to be doing her level best to provide comfort and strength for every other member of the Wolf family present, biteological or pseudo-adopted. Clawd looked as lost as the she-wolf probably felt; Spectra recalled Draculaura being wheeled out as a single casualty in the mass exodus of injured parties on stretchers. Howleen torn between providing comforting touches and words to her older siblings, and perpetually checking that Twyla was okay; despite a paranormalmedic having cleared the shadowy-ghoul as nothing more than ‘mildly sunburnt’.

A fact the nightmare-eater could be heard reminding Howleen of every few minutes, when the fussing became too much. It was rather adorable, from an external perspective such as Spectra’s. 

And… if her instincts were right, then sometime soon, the ghostly gossip was going to be putting their picture in the _ New Couples Column _ of her weekly blog update.    
  
Actually, speaking of infamous pairings...

Closer still to the journalist, Monster High’s It-Couple seemed to be reaffirming that the other was completely whole and unharmed despite the circumstances. Each looking generally traumatised by whatever it was they had been forced to do in the midst of the crisis, holding close to the other and not-so-subtly searching the gloomy corridor for familiar faces. Spectra was not entirely sure if Cleo and Deuce were searching for specific faces, or just mentally ticking off who was still alright and who was missing; though there was no denying the way Mummy and Gorgon seemed to relax a little each time they came across the face of a fiend, or classmate. Spectra knew the feeling intimately.

Cleo just about sagging in relief when she looked towards the doors and found where the vast majority of her fiends were congregated. Sodden to the core, or newly re-animated as they were, at the very least they appeared to be alright. Spectra watched on as the ghoul stood on her toes to whisper something to Deuce, and the boo whirled about so swiftly his motion was practically blurred, in response.    
Behind the visor, his eyes visibly darted across the gathered, and a slow smile trailed over his features out of sheer relief. Mummy and Gorgon immediately stirred into motion, carefully picking their way towards the small cluster by the door. The pair leaning against the other, in what they must have  _ assumed _ was a nonchalant manner; though, to her keen observer’s eyes, the ghostly gossip could plainly see it was more to keep both boo and ghoul upright, than anything else.

 

Elsewhere in the general vicinity, Holt had dragged his waterlogged party-manster self away from where the blue boo had been fretting over Frankie Stein; predominantly as he was currently unable to get within four feet of the sparking ghoul, given how conductive she was right now. The Jekyll-Hyde may be fire-proof due to a quirk of their tribrid genetics, and could withstand some degree of current… but being made a monster lightning rod while practically a walking ocean of water? Probably not the idea most conducive to remaining unalive.   
Instead choosing to provide assistance to a few seemingly random boos, ghouls and non-bitenary monsters Spectra didn’t recognise immediately; most were younger, and many looked like they were fairly certain that this was the moment they were going to wake up and finally be free of this nightmare. He consoled and cajoled, which made the voyeuristic spectre smile; at least someone had the willpower left to attempt to brighten things up a bit.

Her good cheer dwindled slightly when she realised exactly where, and to whom, the DJ was working his way down the corridor to. Suddenly devoid of a need to be strong, with no injured students to provide comfort to, or freaked-out and skittish freshmen; the Phantom of Monster High’s catacombs was having a minor melt-down. 

Silently, Operetta seemed to be breaking before the ghoul even realised it. By the time Holt reached her, the songstress was shaking… no, shuddering, with silent tears streaming down an emotionless face. Eyes fixed on… nothing.    
The need to go to her was strong within the spectral ghoul’s breast, and yet… Spectra found that something stayed her. It was almost like being rooted in place, high above it all and… safe. The odd idea that this was the only place she could truly be safe, filtered through her mind unbidden and without any further elabooration of why.

Holt, meanwhile, had convinced the violet ghoul to focus on the present; and, worryingly, Operetta seemed not to even notice how saturated the boo was when she snapped forwards viper-quick, for a hug. He takes it in stride, patting her back, and surreptitiously scanning the hallways for… well, probably for Johnny Spirit; Spectra concludes. Operetta and the spectral manster were rarely too far apart these days, despite how the pair went on and on about ‘not needing another monster in their unlives to be complete’. 

She found it both adorable, and an amazing challenge for her photojournalistic talents; trying to get snaps of the pair together, for her articles. Which were most often published in the  _ MH Couples Column _ ; something Spectra had designed specifically to frustrate Operetta, after the songstress made a rather disparaging comment on her writing abilities during an argument last year.    
It was a running joke, now; putting in an article about Operetta and Johnny -usually accompanied by a deliberately blatantly terribly-photoshopped image of the two together. Why, on April Fool’s Day this year, her creative license had seen the teen sleuth-slash-detective write an entire article on how the frequent ‘Jam Sessions’ was just a covert operation in which Johnny, Holt and Operetta secretly dated behind Jackson and Frankie’s respective backs.    
The songstress had attempted to call her out on it, in a public forum, but failed because she was laughing too hard at the time.

...Spectra would give just about anything to see Operetta laugh right now.   
The expression of hopelessness on that normally robust, optimistic face was deeply disquieting; as was the dawning look of horror on Holt’s rainslicked features, as he failed to locate the missing ‘bad boo’. He did not ask, though, the question of Johnny’s whereabouts; Spectra had a feeling that neither of them wanted to know the answer for certain.

 

Speaking of sodden monsters with sombre expressions on their faces…   
Spectra swivels mid-air to gain a better perspective on the returning water-monster retrieval and rescue squad; all five remaining members appearing tense, and pensive. Despite all their charges having been wheeled, in great haste, from the school pool and into waiting amboolances, long moments before. Purrhaps it was the sudden silence, the chance to really think about what they had been through and done, that had finally caught up.

 

As it had for many others.   
Some silently weeping and trembling. Others allowing large, loud, heaving sobs to explode from them; too tired to try and mitigate the sounds. And yet, even more of the remaining student-dead-body were just staring blankly at the walls, or being cautiously coaxed from panic attacks by  _ barely-holding-it-together-themselves _ classmates and creatures.

 

But no, not these five.   
  
Manny Taur towers over them all, his wet casual-attire seeming to weigh a thousand pounds;  the minotaur boo’s steps were slow, and measured. Expression guarded, demeanour exhausted but trying hard not to show it; fully aware that now was the time for the still-coherent students to make a show of strength, of inner calm and balance. And hopefully, it would be enough to help center those who were in emotional turmoil right now.   
  
In an oddly stark contrast, seated atop the minotaur boo’s shoulders, is one  _ Iris Clops _ ; her serious, thoughtful expression occasionally marred by a minor jolt of delight, at seeing the world from such an amazing perspective, just this once. Clearly, Manny had suggested this particular course of action as the manster knew it would provide a brief moment of levity, for his generally-gentle ghoulfiend, in an otherwise dark aftermath.    
Manny really did hate to see the smile fade from her boo-tiful face; the way it had when the last of the gurneys had been rushed out of the Pool room, and she no longer had to be overly positive for the injured. Iris was an amazing ghoul, but her empathetic nature often backfired; taking every negative stitchuation to heart and stressing her out. Such as now, as they strode through the remnants of chaos and saw how it was affecting the other students.

The worst part was that, realistically, there was very little either of them could do for the others. 

That sickening feeling -of the kind that made you mentally replay every moment of a crisis  _ over-and-over  _ again, until you pick out everything you  _ could  _ have done…  _ should have done...  _ instead- was rising in everyone present. Some were just better at hiding it than others.   
As if sensing his thoughts, the gore-geous cyclops ghoul pats his head once… and flops forwards to press a kiss to his nose. Manny snorts in response, slightly embarrassed and loving it. They don’t say anything, but it helped.  He keeps walking.    
  


Abbey Bominable is silent, as is her natural state, as the yeti moves beside the other two ghouls of their impromptu rescue squad. Though, Spectra detects that this is a  _ different _ silence to that which usually envelops the ghoul like a shroud. Though it is widely known since the cool ghoul arrived, that Yetis come from the Himalayan Mountain range, where air is thin and words scarce;  and even with the apparent ‘lack’ of verbal communication, what is not said can be just as expressive as an entire conversation. Paranormally, just being around the icy ghoul tended to make others feel at ease with themselves, supernaturally calmer almost; this day, however, the lack of sound felt unbearable. Wrong.    
Like someone needed to scream, just to break the tension.

Her eyes were guarded, unfathomable. Whatever her thoughts, they were decidedly not positive; and, as Spectra knew Abbey was a realist when it came to serious screamnarios, it filled the ghostly gossip with a level of dread. Clearly, the condition of at least one of the water monsters could be considered grave, or unlife-threatening; it was the only explanation, given Abbey’s long hiss-tory of remaining calm, and unaffected, by serious stitchuations. 

But who…?    
Lagoona? Gil? Finnegan? Honey Swamp? The two freshmonsters, whose names danced on the tip of her semi-translucent tongue and yet refused to come to mind?    
All had been injured significantly in the solar ambush. And, although Spectra had only a fleeting glance at their injuries and Porter’s brief report of what he’d seen during an impromptu trip to the pool, to go on… the moonlight-pale ghoul felt in her core, that all were potential final-fatalities. Any of them, any one alone, would be a blow to the school and the students who inhabited it. 

Shaking her head to dislodge the morbid thoughts, Spectra allowed her objective, journalistic sensibilities to take over. Dropping the swirling emotions within, in order to allow her mind to focus upon tiny details in the world around her; taking comfort in fact, and the thrill of chasing a pseudo-lead, rather than dwelling on ominous omens.

 

The ghostly gossip paid close attention to the body language of those standing closest to the Yeti and Minotaur-Cyclops technical fear-a-mid. The way Rochelle Goyle allowed her firm, heavy body to move with forced casualness; every movement graceful and effortless, as if deliberately projecting an air of tranquility, that all was  well. External countenance kept neutral, but not negative, from long semesters of being Hall Moan-itor, and Night-Principal at Monster High. 

The garghoul was in the midst of all the other monsters in the tight formation they seemed to have subconsciously taken; with Abbey, Manny and Iris to one side, and Avea to her immediate right. Each keeping pace with the others, and trying not to drip pool-water too significantly in any one place. Mostly, the group remained close to the locker-side of the corridor, which was generally devoid of students, creatures and movement. 

Somewhere behind, the mumbled curses of a Jawnitor, discovering their trail, could be heard. Wet slop of a mop scraping over tile, then clanging against an ancient metal bucket, following the quintet down the hallway.

Avea was the only group member with whom the cleaning staff could not find fault; the hybrid ghoul not actively wet in any way. It seemed she had simply played the role of transporter, as opposed to in-pool unlifeguard, like the others had.    
Spectra actively recalled a time, not a week ago during Physical Deaducation, when Avea had opted out of swimming for personal reasons; apparently trying to dry harpy wings and hooves, simultaneously, was quite the nightmarish stitchuation. She had happily volunteered to stay out of the pool with the other ghoul, and together the pair had worked on the Advice Column the Ghostly Gossip blog featured weekly. 

Spectra had never before been aware that you could easily remove rust from chains, or ancient armour, with nothing more than the blood of the innocent and a pinch of cinnamon. Now she thought about it, the spectral ghoul wasn’t quite certain how One would even procure the blood of the innocent in a town like this… and her chain-link coture had gotten caught in the rain over the weekend…

Rhythmic clip-clack, click-clop sounds provided a background to her thoughts; but the sudden shift in cadence and sound made Spectra blink back to reality again. Ah, that was all. It seemed that, despite taking the path-less-occupied, even now Avea  was having to deftly wind her way through small huddled groups littering that side of the hallway; expression one of fierce concentration as she attempted to avoid trodding on anyone. Manicured hooves barely clicking on the tiles as she moved, navigating with a skill and grace that would leave any self-respecting olympian equestrian teams simply awestruck. 

Despite all this movement, and the small interactions each in the party seemed to share with one another - _ a brush of hands, a nod, the visible relaxation of a too-tense body _ \- there were no words. They filled the world with a silence that spoke volumes.

Or, to put it simply, they did not speak… because there was nothing to say, that would make what any had hexperienced in the past few hours, alright again. 

  
  


Though, Spectra noted upon further observation, Rochelle did proceed to then give an off-hand wave in the direction of Robecca Steam, the missing member of their squadron; as they passed by. Reciprocated immediately by the Skulltimate Roller _ mazing _ super-ghoul; who was, at current, providing a sympathetic ear - _ and a steam-powered hug _ \- to a visibly-shaken Scarah Screams. The Bean Si, having remained iron-willed in the face of such pain and chaos, now coming undone somewhat in the too-still, excruciatingly-silent aftermath.

An aftermath in which  _  there was no injured Gory to focus her immediate attention on _ ; and one wherein her boofiend, Invisibilly, had been unanticipatedly taken away by paranormalmedics without explanation as to how he had become so visibly damaged.    
In a hoarse whisper that the eavesdropping-Spectra strained to hear, Scarah shakingly confided in her empathetic rescuer, Robecca, that there was a scream building in her chest… but she didn’t know who it was for and that the Bean Si was afraid of what it would signify once the sound burst free. 

This chilling revelation sent a thrill of fear through both the listening ghouls; one the intended recipient of the news, and the other a rather nosy reporter who was just now putting this piece of infearmation together with Abbey’s stony hexpression.

Someone   _ was _ undying.   
Someone they all knew, and cared about; for Scarah to be feeling the need to scream. Intriguingly enough, though the infearmation was technically useless trivia in the present stitchuation, the Bean Si only signal the loss of family, fiends, and any human families they might end up bound to in the traditional sense. A few ancient Direland Banshees formed relationships with certain normie families in the past, and thereby the long-unlived monsters would scream at their far-too-frequent deaths, as if they were kin. 

Under other circumstances, Spectra would have written an entire article on that fact alone… but the reality of it just made the spectral ghoul feel hollow inside once more. They were losing someone, and even the Senior Necromancy Creature probably would not be able to resurrect them… not if Scarah felt the instinctual need to scream.  It was Horrifying.

  
It was also the scoop of the century for a school-based journalist like herself. Which sounded cold even to her own mind. A foreign ideal that refuted morality as a minor hindrance, in light of the potential fame being the fierce-st to report on a tragedy of this magnitude, would bring Spectra.    
And yet, despite this, the infearmation garnered just left the ghostly gossip feeling cold, oddly disjointed; like small pieces of her body were drifting awayy aimlessly and she could do naught to stop it. All based on the heart-dropping realisation, that Spectra may just have to include an _ Obituaries _ column in the next issue of her blogazine… which was, admittedly, something she had never thought necessary, before now. Before…  _ This _ .

 

Shifting focus rapidly, searching for something else…  _ anything else _ , to occupy her focus at that moment; Spectra alighted on the cluster of monsters closest to the door. Freshly drenched from a short sojourn in the rain, for whatever reason one would run through a wildly out-of-control storm during a crisis, and draped rather unattractively over the tiled floor.  

Giggling a little, Spectra surveyed the small gaggle of current classmates; deliberately shoving more negative thoughts, feelings and revelations, to the back of her mind as the Ghostly Gossip did so. Trying hard not to acknowledge dark realisations that clouded in in a mental maelstrom of put-together observations, facts and overheard conversations; all leading to a very singular outcome, which Spectra sought not to acknowledge, until forced by reality.   
Ignoring the problem, distracting herself from reality… it came so easily,  _ so supernaturally _ to the spectral ghoul. In all actuality, it was a practice she tended to do rather frequently… and maybe if the journalistic ghoul didn’t do it quite so often, then purrhaps Spectra would not be in the position she was currently in. Filled to the brim with foreboding and half-remembered warnings, entangled in metaphors and twisted conceptualisations.

  
  
Meanwhile, Jinafire was doing her best to convince Heath to get his saturated, semi-steaming, elemental self off of the floor and purrhaps entertain the idea of changing into something _ dry _ . The dragon ghoul looked as if she would love nothing more than to do exactly that, herself; but seemed to feel it was her empathetic duty as a fellow student, to at least try to stop the easily-excitable matchstick of a manster, from catching a Monster Cold.    
_ Heath could be severely insufferable when he became unwell; and there were still notable areas of charring on the Creepateria ceiling from the last time he fell prey to the annual illness, pretended to be fine, then sneezed rather explosively during lunch period. _

 

Meowlody and Purrsephone were attempting the very same task with their illustrious werekat leader, who was steadfastly refusing to move -in a scarily similar fashion to Heath. _Though Toralei would probably find a way to use the intangible journalist for a scratching post, before ever admitting such a parallel could even be_ vaguely _true_. It appeared that the very concept of being so incredibly wet was no major cause for concern… as long as both the sodden parties  fervently denied the stitchuation to the others present; _and especially, to themselves._

If there was a medal for _ obstinate denial _ , they would tie for gold. Or Platinum.

 

Nearby, a shaky Frankie Stein was being carried down the hallway by Rochelle Goyle; her stray sparks doing nothing but pinging uselessly off the garghoul’s stone skin. It seemed to tickle, apparently, as the garghoul would sometimes allow a giggle to slip past her sombre expression.    
Directly behind, followed Ghoulia Yelps, via a rather unfairly cheerful Robecca Steam; who moved with confeardent ease, despite the addition of the zombie ghoul genius situated upon her back. 

Spectra frowned, spinning mid-air to glance back to where the other ghoul had  _ just _ been providing emotional support for Scarah Screams; only to find the Bean Si already up and engaging in busy-work. Namely assisting Jinafire and the Werekat twins in trying to get Toralei and Heath mobile, or at least, semi-cooperative.    
Well, who was Spectra to judge another monster when she, herself, was also distracting herself from dark thoughts by blatantly ignoring them in favour of something else? If it made Scarah feel better, then so be it.

Although, it was hard for the impartial observer to miss how Robecca appeared to be periodically flicking her eyes back at the Bean Si ghoul; surreptitiously of corpse, but still, a definite appraising glance every so often. It seemed the steampunk skater was not as confeardent about Scarah’s emotional stability as either of the ghouls were letting on… or purrhaps it had more to do with the heavy burden of knowledge they shared. The certainty, the knowing… that a scream was on its way, and there was no telling whose passing the sound would be signifying.

 

If Ghoulia noticed - _ and of corpse she did, but courteously ignored the phenomena _ \- then the zombie ghoul-genius did not show it. Instead, unobtrusively shifting her weight about on the airborne mechanical ‘steed’-slash-ghoulfiend, and letting out a low murmur of confursation towards Robecca. It seemed the blue ghoul was giving directions to-… oh, well,  _ that _ was certainly interesting to know. Spectra had not been aware of a laboratory on  _ that _ floor.

Then again, quite a significant part of the school was a mystery to the majority of students. Indeed, most of the older classrooms had been abandoned, as the current student-dead-body was nowhere  _ near  _ the size of the original attending cohort. Not so much due to a loss of student numbers, merely that there never were quite so many monster children being born, created or raised these days.   
  
Unliving costs were high in this modern age; and Hunters too numerous. Many felt it was sheer cruelty to bring a child to unlife when there was so much suffering, and persecution of monster-kind, occurring on a daily basis. Especially as, with technology’s ascent, came the unfortunate additional hazards of affording humans and hunters the ability to instill fear, and inspire hatred for what they did not understand, from behind the comfortable anonymity of their computer screens. Xenophobia and Understanding towards monsters, were at war in an ocean of ones and zeroes… combatants hidden behind pseudonymns;  screen names and proxy servers protecting their identities.

_ Anyone _ could be the unknown internet identity that urged other humans to Trick-or-Treat ‘all monster scum’. Maybe the sweet little old normie lady next door could be part of an online anti-monster movement in her spare time. The young pizza delivery boy might have detailed plans on when he’s going to destroy a monster, written out elaboorately in some online forum, somewhere. The point was…  _ you just could never know until something happened _ . 

And that was a risk many monsters simply could not take.    
To inflict that kind of uncertainty, that fear for your hexistence, on a new generation? It was simply too cruel, in their minds. 

 

Though it was an easily understandable viewpoint, from an objective perspective; Spectra often thought, and wrote on occasion, that it the view was overly-simplistic and failed to account for the good things in unlife. Like fiends, and  _ famil-...y…   _

_ Family…? _

_...Fam...il...y... _

 

_ Had she ever had… family? _

_ Yes? Yes. Y...es, of cor...pse… she had. _

_ They were jus...t ...far… aw-...away right n...ow. Yes she’d… chosen to… c-come to… Monster High, from the Ghost World… but the...y… had… st...a...y...e...d. _

_ St...aye...d? _

_ N-no… they d-died. Died?  _ **_Of corpse they had_ ** _ … it was how all ghosts were ‘born’, or made, or however it was termed in their Biteology textbooks. She had died. She didn’t remember it… but she had.  _

_ There had been… something killing people… it was the late 1800s…  _ _   
_ _ Nineteenth Century, they called it… that much she remembered. Most never recalled how they died, but Spectra knew… When. Not How, or Who, or Why… but When. It was enough. _

_ It was more than many ever got. Though whatever she otherwise recalled of it was hidden beneath… beneath… ben...ea...th… the Other thoughts. _

_ Something about Fam...ily. Her fami...ly?  _

_ So f-familiar. Screaming. She re...mem...be...re...d screaming.  _

_ Terrible.  _

_ Terror.  _

_ Loss.  _

_ Terror. Loss. Family. _

_ Terrorlossfamilyterrorlossfamilyterrorlossfamil-... _

 

  1. No this was wrong, ** _her family was fine_**.   
They had all moved to the world of _Solids_ a long time before, and had unlived in a smaller, more discreet monster-haven than New Salem; one secreted away in Great Biteon. She remembered that… their neighbours, the fiends she had had there. YEs, she did, she remembered… she remembered…  
Spectra remembered the day that the Headless Headmistress Bloodgood, had called by and offered for Spectra to join Monster High… which she did. She came to Amscareica…  and her parents had… th-they... _they had st-stayed the-...re. Yes. Of corpse. Exactly. They were back… Home… it burned. No, h...o...m...e… was fi-...ne….? Home was FINE. Parents were fine. STOP._



Her mind kept chanting  _ Loss. Loss. Loss. Death. Pain. Family. Fiends. Loss. _ over and over, a ceaseless chant in a multitude of voices that screamed familiarity… and yet they were, as strangers, to her. Spectra trembled, clenched fists, pressed harshly to throbbing temples, in an effort to regain control. They did not stop.

  
  


“...-ctra. Spectra, hey… hey it’s okay… you don’t need to do that, it’s okay…”

“...-asy matey, you need to let th’ Captain hear you tell her what’s happening, and she’ll punch whoever did this to ye, in the face. With her peg-leg, alrig-…”

 

The words slipped into her consciousness, overlaying the repetitious chant slowly, gradually; until it provided an unlifeline out. 

 

Spectra was on the ceiling. Or more accurately, _ partially in it _ .   
It was the first thought that occurred, swiftly followed by the realisation that there were two faces almost unbearably close to her own; and the sensation of hands about her wrists.   
Porter’s expression was caught between forced calm and fear; Vandala’s leaned more towards compassion with a hint of righteous fury. She would most certainly punch someone with her peg-leg,  _ impossibility aside _ , for Spectra… should it come to that.

 

He smiles, automatically, upon seeing that the ghostly gossip was back with them.   
“Hey, hey it’s alright… do you know where you are right now, Spectra?” The Paintergeist asks, tone gentle and eyes locked on her face.

“J-judging from the archi-...tecture I’m ph-phased through, p-pretty sure we’re still at Monster High, Porter.” She hates the minor stutter in her tone, betraying how utterly rattled she feels inside. “I’m o-okay, really. It w-was just… because of-... of-...”

“Of how screwed up today has been?” Porter finishes for her, and Spectra nods gratefully at her boofiend for it. He shrugs casually, and slowly releases her wrists; Vandala taking a minute more, as she uses that penetrating gaze of hers to practically deep-scan Spectra.

“You’re not as fine as you want to pretend, matey… but I trust ye.” The Pirate Ghost ghoul finally sighs, and relinquishes her hold on the ghostly gossip. “Not that ye can be blamed, given the circumstances. The deck’s littered with washed-up flotsam and jetsam, just look at ‘em, shivering like unfurled sails in a strong sea wind!”

 

Indeed, though many were actively working towards getting others back to some level of emotional stability and functionality; those below them seemed, for the most part, to be strewn about the corridor, trapped in their own mental worlds. Processing what had just happened in their own ways; some well, others… decidedly less so. Some on the fence.

A few monsters had glanced up, with unfocused eyes, at the ghostly trio. Spectra immediately surmised it must have been due to something she had said aloud, or done, during her momentary loss of control. It was not a comfortable feeling.

Indeed, the spectral ghoul had never felt more exposed in her entire unlife, than this moment. She had lost control, not just in front of her closest fiends… but before an audience of the majority of Monster High’s student dead-body. How… scandalous. 

 

Porter cautiously places a comforting hand on her shoulder, it trembled slightly, like he would snatch it away the instant she showed discomfort at this minor form of contact. Instead, Spectra relaxed into the sensation, propelling her body gently towards that of the Paintergeist boo, so that they eventuated in a loose form of embrace; finding peace in the increased physical contact between them.    
Vandala hovered at the edge of the pair, glaring down at a few nosy onlookers; who eventually averted their glassy-eyed gazes away from the scream above them. Spectra grabbed a handful of her dress, almost reflexively; almost as if to prove she was still there, still… real. 

“Ay matey, I’m here.” Reassured the spectral swashbuckler, patting her hand kindly. “Now, who am I takin’ to with me peg-leg?” 

Her roguish grin breaks the tension, and Spectra feels a tired chuckle burst free from her lips. She swats at the pirate poltergeist, hoping to distract; and fair near stamps her foot, mid-air- when it fails to do as intended.    
  
“You always know what to say, don’t you?” Spectra teases as a last resort. Vandala only nods in response… and the journalistically-inclined ghoul sighs. “I suppose this means you will only be satisfied if I tell you…”

 

“Only if you WANT to,” Porter hurries to add, throwing  _ A Look _ in Vandala’s direction. “We can talk later, or not at all, if you would prefe-...”

“No, I-... it’s alright.” Spectra cuts him off, “If I don’t tell you now, I never will, I think.”   
She looks at her boofiend, “Porter, do you… remember what I told you last night? About the memories I can’t reach… and what they mean?”

He nods, but says nothing.

She gestures to everything below them. “This… I don’t… know why… but this feels… familiar. Like… deja vu? And for a moment, it made me doubt that my family was still… still unalive. I do not understand this, just that there was this moment of all-consuming horror and loss inside me, and I couldn’t fight it… I couldn’t… couldn’t… it was like wanting to scream, but you have no voice.”

Spectra knew she was shaking again, but she didn’t care.    
It was all so raw, so close… so tangible and yet… out of the ghostly gossip’s reach.

There was something that she needed to remember, but it was buried deep; down past the fear, and pain…  the loss and grief, anger and rage… and the-... the-... she did not know actually know what lay beneath that. Only that it was there, waiting for Spectra to find it.

Memory of time she hid, even from herself.

 

“Hey, it’s okay… you don’t have to do this alone. I’m not saying we have the answers, because frankenstein-ly I’m kind of stumped as to what this means… but it’s important to you, babe, so we’ll work together to find out what you’ve forgotten. Sound good?” Porter says, tone gentle and sincere, as always.

For a moment, Spectra marvels at the fact that the universe granted her this boo; she never could quite understand what she had done to deserve him. Then again, he often said the same of her… they really were a hopelessly-romantic pair of artistically-inclined fools.

Over his shoulder, Vandala made a generalised, ‘what he said’ gesture and then gave her a thumbs-up. 

“Thank you. I do feel quite silly, but I suppose it cannot be helped right now. Everything about today has been awful, and I cannot even bring myself to still be upset with you over your sneaking-out last night, boofiend-mine.” Spectra tossed at Porter, recalling the morning’s chaotic events all over again. She forestalls his incoming explanation by continuing, “But I will forgive it completely… if you promise not to sneak off again, not until the convention finishes. I know you quite enjoy painting for the paranormal investigators… but you are putting yourself in danger everytime you do, and I spend all night worrying after your safety!”

 

Porter twists to look her dead in her silvery-blue eyes.    
“Spectra, I promise to you that I totally won’t sneak out tonight for the purposes of painting something clawesome that will scare the pants off the convention-going normies… or anything else of the sort. Cool?” He has a hand up, as if undertaking a solemn oath.

She smiles back, “Yes, cool. Thank you, though… I know it is a lot to ask…”

“Nah, it’s fine. If your ghoul asks you to do something to keep her happy… you do it. I can always prank-art them next year, anyway, when things are safer.” Porter seems to look at her expectantly. She realises he’s waiting for some form of off-hand response to the statment. 

“Oh, yes… of corpse. I mean, we’ll see when the time comes…” Spectra smiles back, feigning nonchalance and authority she did not feel. “If all is well I might grant you permissio-... ahhhahahahahaaa ha!”

Porter and Vandala had seemingly come to a silent agreement to ambush the ghoul between them; instigating an unfairly-biased tickle war. So ridiculous was the entire stitchuation, especially considering how dismal the day had begun and then continued to decline from there… that this odd moment of childish levity seemed all the more raucously funny. Spectra managing to return fire, as it were, a few times; before a loud, authoritarian voice halted their activities.

 

Below, Mr Hack was trudging about, shouting.

“Alright you lazy louts, everyone UP! Get up, stay up, or crawl… I don’t care which, but you need to start moving towards the Ghastsembly Hall. Alright, get UP,  _ move it-move it-move it _ !” The Mad Science Creature’s take-no-prisoners attitude seemed to be paying off in spades. Even the most dissociated were rising and stumbling towards where he was pointing.

“That means you lot too!” Mr Hack shouts up at the spectral trio, who had previously been mid-ticklefight, and were now attempting to blend in with the ceiling to avoid his wrath. “Don’t make me get a ladder, you lot. I’m watching you.”

 

“Pfft, as if a ladder could make us do anythi-... eek!” Porter yelped as a rather large knife embedded itself into the ceiling just by his face.  Sure, theoretically the weaponry did not pose a threat to those of the spectral persuasion… but there was something about the Mad Science creature that made you think he would  _ find a way to make it happen _ . 

The boo salutes smartly in response, as Mr Hack pretends he doesn’t derive amusement from the whole screamnario. “ _ Got it _ . To the Ghastsembly Hall, slaydies!”

 

The Paintergeist practically  _ dragging _ his equally-intangible fiends along behind, as he made for the specified destination at great speed.  trying very hard not to hear the high, crazed laughter of their Mad Science Creature, echoing behind them. 

 

-)0(-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's about 1 paragraph of chapter 14 written, and that's from like 2016/2017.   
> I will look into it, at some point, promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Will edit and add more chapters shortly, have to go do a thing.


End file.
